


Back to Sanity

by nouseforaname



Series: Recovery Mode [1]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nouseforaname/pseuds/nouseforaname
Summary: Elliot's just trying to move on and finally start the healing process. Dom's back in the country and wants to forget the person she used to be.And there's Darlene, who stubbornly refuses to budge.
Relationships: Darlene Alderson/Dominique DiPierro
Series: Recovery Mode [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625374
Comments: 50
Kudos: 226





	1. Trying to identify the voices in my head

“Darlene.”

Her eyes blink rapidly, as if suddenly waking from a long sleep. She glances around the small room and takes everything in one by one: Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a couple of expensive-looking abstract paintings, a wide window showing off the brownstone across the street.

“Sorry.” She shifts in her seat and pays special attention to the way the worn leather groans with every movement. She briefly glances at the mahogany coffee table filling the space between them before finally making eye contact. “Uh, did you say something?”

He sighs and uncrosses his legs, clicking his pen before crossing them again. “Where did you go just now?”

She lets out a dark chuckle and shakes her head. “Nowhere important.”

“Darlene, this only works if you’re honest with me.”

She heaves a dramatic sigh and throws up her hands in defeat. “I dunno what to tell you, dude. I spaced out. Am I not allowed to do that?”

“I didn’t say that you couldn’t. I just want to know where you go when it happens. Maybe we can figure out why you space out.”

She laughs again. “Good luck with that.”

He adjusts his stupid tortoise shell glasses. “It’s been three months and we’ve made little to no progress. If you’re so unwilling to cooperate, why did you come here?”

She defiantly crosses her arms and stubbornly glares at the window. “Because I promised my brother I’d do this.”

He gives her a slight nod. “And why did you promise your brother you’d go into therapy?”

Is it just her, or does he gradually get more patronizing every time they have this conversation? “Because I told him that we would do this together.”

“Has he been seeing Krista regularly?”

She scoffs. “I’m sure you know the answer to this.”

“I do, but I want to know if you know.”

“Of course I know. Jesus.” She throws her head back against the couch and runs a hand through her tangled hair. “I get it, alright? Elliot’s making stellar progress, he’s the poster boy for recovery - a true underdog.”

He tilts his head, curiosity piqued. “Does his road to recovery bother you?”

Her eyes bulge at his question. “You’re kidding, right? Why would it bother me? I finally have my brother - my _actual_ brother - back after God knows how long, after the complete fucking nightmare we just dragged ourselves out of, and you have the audacity to think that him actively seeking help and proactively taking steps to better himself _bothers_ me?” She puffs out another indignant scoff, throwing one leg over the other and stretching an arm across the sofa’s backrest. “Fuck, dude.”

She can hear his pen scratching something into his clipboard. “You told me last time that he’s thriving at his new job and even cleaned up his apartment. Is it possible that you may be jealous of him?”

She stares at him like he suddenly grew a second head. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

“It’s not a bad thing. It’s okay if you feel like you’re a few steps behind. The road to recovery isn’t a race. Have you talked to him about this? About how you’ve been feeling?” When she doesn’t answer, he tries a different approach. “What about your panic attacks? Have you been able to manage them?” He flips through a few pages on his clipboard. “You told me the last one you had was about three weeks ago, which is the longest you’ve gone so far. That's impressive.”

She shakes her head and laughs again, hoping she doesn’t look as anxious as she feels. “Hooray for me. Do I get a sticker for being a good girl?”

He’s just about to respond when the alarm on his watch goes off. Darlene visibly deflates with relief as he sighs, tucking his pen into his front pocket and reluctantly rising to his feet. “We’re putting a pin in this.”

“Sure, just like all the other things we’ve pinned.” She shrugs as she stands up, hoisting her purple backpack over one shoulder.She pulls out her heart-shaped sunglasses from her jacket pocket and slides them on as she makes her way to the door. “See ya.”

He calls out to her just as her palm curves around the doorknob. “Darlene.” When she groans and half-turns to stare at him, he gives her a defeated smile. “I want to help you, you know.”

The pity dripping from his tone douses her with an overwhelming sense of guilt. He’s looking at her like she’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever seen, and it only makes her want to leave faster.

“Yup.” She manages to utter, despite the rapidly growing lump lodged in her throat. She softly closes the door behind her and tries to walk past reception as steadily as she can, but her knees are quivering.

* * *

She nearly falls asleep on the subway ride back, but she wakes up just as the doors slide open on her stop. Once she’s back on the surface she makes a quick stop for coffee, then traipses down the street, past the usual dumpling restaurant, and up the steps to her and Elliot’s building.

It took some convincing, but her brother managed to get her to take Shayla’s old suite. After everything that’s happened, the siblings came to a realization that all they have now is each other, and if they're going to recover from the fallout the best way to do it is to do it together. Darlene doesn’t mind it so much - in fact, it’s loads better than her previous living situation, which was really just her crashing at whichever friend had an available couch at the time. This also means she gets to see him more often, which also means that she can make up for lost time and actually be a decent sister to him.

She lumbers towards the end of the hallway, but instead of unlocking the door on the right she raps her knuckles against the door on the left. It opens seconds later; Elliot’s still in his work clothes, which must mean he got back not too long ago. “Darlene.” He gives her his usual coy smile. “Hey.”

She snorts, eyeing him up and down as he steps aside to let her in. Flipper is excitedly hopping around her ankles, and she bends over to pet her. “I’m never gonna get used to this.”

His brow furrows as he looks down, staring at his forest green sweater, the off-white button up layered underneath, and his black chinos. “What? Does it look bad?”

She pulls out a chair and sits down, dumping her bag by her feet. Her sunglasses are still on. “No. It’s just a far cry from the hoodie, I guess.”

Elliot chuckles and takes the seat across from her, his hands clasped together atop the table. “How was therapy?” When she shrugs, he tries again. “Talk about anything interesting?” Another shrug. He sighs. “Darlene, you said you were gonna try.”

She raises her coffee to her lips. “I know, I know. It’s just...” She shrugs again. “You know how hard it is to talk about shit, especially to a complete stranger.”

“I get that, but Ben wants to help.”

“I know. He tells me every time I go there.”

“So you should let him help.” One of his hands twitch, like he’s thinking about reaching out to her. “The stuff we’ve been through, it’s fucked up - and...I’m not just talking about recent events either.”

She knows how difficult it is for him to talk about their childhood (Or lack of one), so this must mean he’s serious. “Isn’t it good enough that I’m talking to you about it, though? Five/Nine, the Dark Army, fsociety, our amazing parents - why does Ben have to know?”

She purposely left out one thing in that list, and judging by the look Elliot is giving her he’s fully aware of it. “I’m glad you’re talking to me. Hell, I’m glad we’re talking at all. But there are some things that Ben can help you with that I can’t. That’s why I still see Krista. I'm lucky that she still even _wants_ to see me.”

Darlene takes a sip of coffee. “Yeah. I know.”

There’s a short pause. Elliot sucks in a breath, then finally unlinks his hands so he can lean forward and place one of them on top of his sister’s. “I’m worried about you.”

She can’t help but laugh at that. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

His expression is grave. “You want me to get better, and I want to get better. I’m trying really hard to make that happen so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

She squeezes his hand. “And you’ve been doing an awesome job with that.” She takes a quick glance around the apartment, noting how different it looks from what it used to be three months ago. Part of it is because of their landlord; thanks to #ecoinpayday he had more than enough money to remodel the entire building: The kitchen and bathroom got complete makeovers, the walls are repainted, the floor is made of new wood, and the ceiling is no longer stained with water damage. The other part of it is because Elliot wanted a fresh start and Krista told him that fixing up the apartment may help with that, so he filled the place with furniture and small personal touches. The small kitchen table they’re currently occupying wasn’t here three months ago. The bed is no longer a sad mattress on the floor; it now boasts a full frame, accented with end tables. He even squeezed a record player in the corner, complete with a small stereo system for his growing vinyl collection. It’s a nice reminder that Elliot, her brother, actually lives here now, and not Mr. Robot, or whoever that other person was. She tries not to give it too much thought.

“But I want you to get better too.” He squeezes back, his large eyes are tender, almost pleading. She forces herself to stare at her coffee instead. “I’m just scared that you don’t want that.”

She honestly doesn’t know how to answer that. Of course she wants to get better. Why the fuck would she even think of wanting to spend the rest of her life this way? He shouldn’t even be asking this, but she doesn’t want to argue, so she says, “I do. It’s just...hard, I guess. Maybe therapy isn’t for me.”

“Maybe it isn’t, but you should at least give it a shot - a real shot.” He squeezes her hand again. “Please, Darlene. Promise me you’ll try.”

He’s still giving her those dumb puppy eyes. She groans and finishes the rest of her coffee. “Ugh, fine. Whatever.”

“Good.” He smiles and rises to his feet, one hand rubbing the back of his head. “So, what do you want for dinner? I was just gonna order in.”

The rest of the evening passes quietly. They watch a few episodes of He-Man, get a little stoned, munch on broccoli beef and fried rice, and Darlene listens to Elliot talk about the day he had at work. By the time she leaves, it’s just past ten.

Her apartment is sparsely furnished. It only has a bed, which is really just a sad mattress on the floor, and a desk for her laptop. She probably should make it look and feel more like a home, but she doesn’t see the point. She’s barely in here anyway.

After tossing her bag on the floor Darlene heads into her closet - the only place in the entire apartment that’s actually full with stuff - and changes into one of the many old oversized t-shirts she stole from Cisco. She heads to her desk and pulls out her laptop from her backpack, idly chewing on her thumbnail as it boots up, but the second her screen flickers to life she slaps it closed and pushes it away. _Not tonight,_ she tells herself.

Sighing, she falls face-first into bed, groaning into her pillow.

It takes her about two hours to fall asleep. She dreams she’s in an airport. She stares at the ticket in her hands - a direct flight to Budapest - and wonders if she may have gotten to the gate too early because she’s the only one here. She checks the gate number on her ticket and finds out she’s in the right place. Where is everyone?

Then the shots start firing. They come in bursts, popping in her ears, zipping in from all sorts of directions. They dig into the seats, crack the large windows, echo through the empty halls - but there aren’t any guns in sight, nor are there any people to fire them. She scrambles underneath her seat, clutching her head in her hands, heart pounding against her ribcage. She hears a bunch of men yelling, but it’s in a language she doesn’t understand. Her eyes clamp shut as she begins to sob. What is she supposed to do now?

She opens her eyes and she’s suddenly in the middle of the hallway, in between gates, looking up at a group of men wearing black suits and red masks. The barrels of their AK-47s are pointed towards her forehead.

“What the fuck do you want?” She cries, and her eyes go wide when nothing comes out. She tries again, but she can’t hear anything. She throws her head back and screams as loud as she can, but the airport is deathly quiet.

They raise their guns. One of them presses up against her forehead. The cool metal against her skin sends shivers down her spine. She closes her eyes again. She can’t watch this.

She jolts awake just as they pull the trigger. She can still hear the gunshots ripping through her eardrums. Her face is wet with tears, her shirt is damp with sweat, and her chest is heaving. Darlene rises on shaky legs and wobbles over to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She looks into the mirror and finds sunken eyes, pale skin, and tangled hair. She looks like a corpse.

She heads into her closet and changes into jeans and a flannel shirt. She steps into her boots, drapes her jacket over her shoulders, grabs her backpack, and steps out. She half-turns towards Elliot’s door, biting her bottom lip, but she decides against it and speeds down the hallway. In minutes she’s outside, shivering slightly in the evening wind. Her feet carry her to the subway.

Darlene doesn’t have to think about where she’s going. Her body goes on autopilot every time she has that nightmare, which has been almost every night now. She doesn’t even know why she goes home anymore, because she knows she’s just going to end up where she’s currently going anyway.

She transfers to another train and rides it for four stops before hopping off. It’s just a short walk from here, only a couple blocks. She jogs up the front steps, wrenches the front door open, and heads up another flight of steps. Once she reaches the door, she kneels in front of it and unzips her bag, pulling out a set of locksmith’s tools. It only takes her seconds to pick the lock; the door swings open just as she shoves everything into her bag, and she rises to her feet and casually walks inside, closing the door behind her. She carefully steps around the scattered pieces of that stupid Echo, still lying on the floor from when she shattered it months earlier. The chest of drawers is still perpendicular to the door.

Darlene takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes, revelling in the familiarity of the environment. The first thing she does is head straight into the bedroom, tossing her backpack by the foot of the bed, and undresses. She reaches for the oversized FBI shirt crumpled on the floor, still in the exact spot she left it in earlier this morning, and shimmies into it. She can spot the safe out of the corner of her eye as she crawls into bed, and she tries not to stare at it, but she always does.

She still remembers the combination, but she never thought to open it. She doesn’t have the heart to. There’s nothing in there that’s worth looking at anyway - at least not anymore.

She rolls onto her back, sighing loudly as her eyes drift towards the ceiling. It doesn’t take long for fatigue to weigh down on her, and in seconds she’s asleep.

It’s the only way she can get a peaceful night’s rest nowadays.


	2. I just wanna be here now

She nearly falls asleep standing up. That’s how tired she is.

Dom blearily rubs at her eyes as she waits by baggage claim. Nothing feels real; she’s drifting in and out of some sort of fever dream. She feels transparent, like she’s here and not here at the same time. Getting over this jet lag is gonna be such a bitch.

The conveyer belt finally starts to move and she watches the dispenser spit up the bags. Her tired eyes follow the luggage as they revolve around the belt; the slow, dull, repetitive movement is lulling her to sleep, and she nods off a couple times.

When she opens her eyes for the third time, she recognizes her bag moving around in the chain, and she leaps towards it. Now that she finally has everything, she can get the hell out of here.

She makes her way out of the airport and towards the passenger pickup area. She flags down the first cab she sees; when she steps inside she leans forward to tell the driver her address, but she stops herself mid-sentence.

“Wait.” She leans back, her expression confused, like she suddenly forgot where she lived. She thinks about her sad little apartment in the middle of that big lonely city, where there’s nothing for her. If she goes back, she’s just going to think about her job, and if she thinks about her job, she’s just going to get herself all worked up again. She still has three months left of administrative leave; she should milk it for all it’s worth.

She wants to give the address to her mother’s house in Philadelphia, but she’s still barred from seeing her family. A part of her just wants to say _fuck it_ and go to Philly anyway, to surprise her mother and catch her up on her adventures overseas, but she knows that’s a risk she can’t afford to take right now - plus, she doesn’t know if she’s even there. She could still be at the safe house with the rest of her family.

As much as she wants to see her mother, she has to be patient and do things the right way.

“Know any good hotels in Jersey?”

* * *

Turns out the driver _doesn’t_ know any good hotels in Jersey, but that’s fine. He drops her off at a dumpy motel next to a gas station in the middle of nowhere. It’s oddly reminiscent of the one she was at three months before, when she was dragged on an impromptu road trip to Boston. The room is tiny and the bathroom’s kind of gross, but it’ll do for now. She’s lived in worse conditions, anyway.

She dumps her bag by the foot of the bed and turns on the TV. The news is doing yet another report on the _sudden economical upturn_ that’s been sweeping the globe ever since anonymous vigilantes snuck into the bank accounts of the world’s richest and gave it back to the people. Unemployment is at an all time low and morale is at an all time high. It’s an exciting time to be alive, apparently.

It’s late in the afternoon and she figures she should get something to eat, so she heads over to the gas station and buys a couple of bean and cheese taquitos and finishes them on the walk back to her room. She watches TV for a couple more hours, but then the jet lag starts to set in again and she decides to turn in for the night.

Dom changes into a pair of pyjama pants and an old shirt, but instead of crawling into bed she sits on the edge of her mattress and reaches for her phone. Without thinking, she taps on Facebook and searches for her mother’s name. Her breath hitches in her throat when she sees her profile picture; it’s been ages since she’s seen her smile. According to one of the photos on her feed she celebrated New Years with her brothers and the kids; they must’ve been cleared to leave the safe house sometime after she left, which is good. At least she knows they’re back home and resuming their lives.

She switches over to Jerry’s profile, where she learns that he and his family spent spring break in Disney World. When she looks at Joseph’s, she finds out that he and his wife celebrated their anniversary with a getaway to Niagara Falls. She missed out on so much, but she’s glad nonetheless. Her family is safe and sound, back where they belong, and that’s what matters.

Dom managed to hold herself back from checking up on them when she was abroad, but she can’t help herself now that she’s back in the country and geographically closer to them. She doesn’t even know if she’s allowed to be looking at them on Facebook, but she doesn’t care. Her boss can’t expect her to completely stay away, and there weren’t any rules specifically stating that she couldn’t peruse their social media. She isn’t exactly coming into contact with them; she’s just…looking, that’s all. Where’s the harm in that?

She leaves Facebook, blankly staring at her phone for a second before pulling up her mobile browser. She searche _s Dark Army;_ the first handful of results are articles about Whiterose’s death and the Washington Township plant explosion. She tried avoiding sinking into a news rabbit hole when she was on vacation, but when the explosion happened it was talked about everywhere, even in Budapest. It was hard not to look into it.

There were a lot of human remains discovered in the wreckage; apparently the Dark Army stormed in and slaughtered all of the plant employees. The military ending up discovering the remains of a massive machine located underground, directly beneath the plant, which was the most likely cause of the explosion. It was easy to connect the dots: Whiterose and the Dark Army were planning destruction on a mass, perhaps even global scale - but someone stepped in just in time to stop it.

She immediately knew who that someone was. At first she was worried, but if anything happened she would've known somehow. Leon, or maybe another one of his associates, or another member of fsociety would've reached out to her with the news - and since she didn't hear anything from anyone it's safe to assume that all is well and she has nothing to fret over. It was hard for the first few weeks; all she wanted to do was to pick up her phone and call, to ask if everything’s okay, if the people she knows are responsible are still alive and aren’t included in the death toll, but she learned to wean herself off, and eventually it became nothing more than a nagging thought that only clawed away at her when it was late and she was alone.

Her eyes are getting heavy, so she sets her phone aside and finally heads to bed. It only takes her a couple of minutes to fall asleep, and she dreams about Minnie Mouse ears and fireworks.

* * *

Dom knows that she’s a busybody at heart. She’s happiest when she has something to do. Even on her vacation, she was constantly drawing up daily itineraries so that she never had a single hour where she didn’t have anything to do. This improvised stay in New Jersey is no different.

She begins every morning with a walk in the woods. She dons a hoodie and sweats and darts off in any random direction, and she won’t come back for an hour, sometimes two if she really gets into it. The fresh air is good, and she could use the exercise.

Her morning reconnaissance missions got her to discover that she’s not very far from a small town. She spends most of her time there, walking around and exploring the little shops. There’s a really good hole-in-the-wall Italian joint that makes the best carpaccio she’s ever had, and right next door is a cafe run by a sweet old lady who brings her brings her two golden retrievers to work every single day.

With this new information in mind, she quickly sketches out a new routine: Walk in the woods, trek into town, breakfast at the cafe, walk the old lady’s dogs, lunch at the cafe, another walk in the woods, Italian joint for dinner, walk the dogs again, trek back to the motel, sleep, then do it all over again. It keeps her busy, and more importantly it keeps her physically and mentally occupied so that by the end of the day, she’ll be too tired to want to check up on her family or read about the Dark Army again.

But there’s only so many new things she can do, and there’s only so many times she can practice the same routine before it gets redundant, and after two weeks Dom feels like she’s exhausted all of her options. She’s going to have to go back to her shitty apartment in the city sooner or later, and there’s probably a billion things to do there anyway. She can clean up, maybe move things around. She can put more effort into making her place feel more like a home, instead of just a space she occupies every evening after work.

She packs her things, pays her bill, bids goodbye to the owners of the Italian joint, the sweet old lady and her dogs, and finally calls a cab. She tiredly presses her cheek against the window, watching the trees and fields gradually mutate into apartment buildings and corner stores. She doesn’t miss the constant stop-and-go of New York City traffic. The obnoxious blaring of car horns, pedestrians arguing with drivers, hawkers forcing unsuspecting tourists into buying their bootleg Prada wallets - yep, she’s definitely home.

Dom pays the driver, hauls her bag out of the trunk, and drags herself to the front steps of her building. When she opens the front door she’s greeted with the familiar scent of grilled meat - the result of living a floor below an elderly Argentinian couple who eats the same exact thing for dinner every single day. It’s comforting to know that some things haven’t changed.

Her legs feel heavier and heavier with every step she takes. She’s still working out the tail end of her jet lag; it was stupid of her to think she could reconcile three months’ worth of living in a completely different continent in just two weeks. Dom raises a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn as she unlocks the door to her apartment.

Everything is exactly the way she left it. Even the chest of drawers is still pushed up against the wall next to her door. The pan she used to cook her grilled cheese is sitting in the sink, still waiting to be washed. Alexa is pitifully strewn across the floor, smashed to bits. Dom tries not to think about how that happened.

She could probably knock out right now and not wake up until tomorrow, but the roaring dumpster fire that is her apartment is just begging to be taken care of, so she gets to work. She does the dishes, groaning in disgust when she finds mould and mildew sticking to some of them, and carefully places them where they rightfully belong. She picks up every piece of discarded clothing and tosses them into a hamper, making a mental note to do laundry first thing tomorrow morning. She organizes the desk, the bookshelf, the closet, the drawers, the bathroom cabinet - she piles everything she no longer needs into some boxes and stacks them by her door, making another mental note to donate them after doing laundry. She changes her sheets, cringing when she realizes she hasn’t changed them in months. She pushes the chest of drawers back to where they were before. She sweeps the floor and wipes down every surface. Cleaning up Alexa’s remains is the last thing she scratches off on her list.

By the time she’s satisfied with everything it’s well into the evening. It’s not 100 percent done, but it’s loads better than what it used to be, and that’s good enough for now. She actually doesn’t remember the last time her place looked this clean, which is kind of pathetic, but better late than never. She’s trying to be a different person now, so the only natural next course of action is to make her living space different too.

She’s too tired to eat. Dom skips dinner, heads into her closet, and changes into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. She’s just about to crawl into bed when she eyes the safe staring back at her from its spot in her closet. She instinctively makes her way over to it, punches in the code, and opens the door. Her heart leaps to her throat when she eyes her gun and badge lying in their usual spots, almost like they’ve been waiting for her to pick them up. Keeping this stuff in an empty apartment for three months probably wasn’t the safest idea, even if they were securely locked away, but it’s not entirely her fault. She wasn’t given enough time to think about where to put them before she was whisked away.

She locks the safe and heads to bed, sighing contentedly against the fresh sheets. She can feel the weight of exhaustion holding her down, sinking into this old mattress, and she sighs again. It’s so nice to be able to sleep when she wants to. These past three months have spoiled her with that luxury. She hopes this is something she can keep up even after her administrative leave is over.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up an hour later to the sound of her doorknob rattling. Her eyes open in a flash and she darts to her safe, quickly unlocking it and grabbing her gun. She briefly checks to see if it’s loaded, then takes the safety off, extending her arms and aiming straight for the door. Her heart is hammering in her chest; what if Irving was wrong and the Dark Army is still after her? What if they’ve been searching for her all this time? What if they’ve been purposely ignoring her for the past three months just so they can catch her off guard?

The lock clicks, and the doorknob slowly turns. Dom swallows hard and keeps an index finger on the trigger, ready to pull if needed. The door swings open, and the silhouette of someone small and thin tiptoes inside. The silhouette closes the door, turns their back to Dom, and flicks the light on.

She nearly fires her gun out of pure shock. “What are you doing here?” Her voice is a semitone higher than it usually is.

The former silhouette finally spins around, her brown hair swishing around her shoulders. Darlene’s large blue eyes bore holes into her, freezing her on the spot. She can’t move. She doesn’t even think she can breathe.

“Holy shit.”


	3. If you don't want to speak tonight, that's alright with me

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit.

Darlene’s boots are rooted to the floor, keeping her in place. Her hands are stiff by her sides. Her pulse is thrumming in her ears.

Three months of not hearing anything, and then suddenly she’s here, in the flesh, pointing a gun in her face, barefoot and wearing a faded Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt.

How could this happen? There’s no way she couldn’t have seen this coming.

“Holy shit.” She immediately holds up her hands to show she surrenders. “Can you put that thing down?”

“How the hell did you get in?” Dom demands. She lowers the gun and pulls her finger away from the trigger, but she’s still very clearly holding onto it. “Did you just break into my apartment?”

Yes, she did just break into her apartment. In fact, she’s been doing it almost every day for the past three months because, for some reason, sleeping here is the only way she can get through the night. Should she also mention that her brother has no idea any of this is happening, and that she’s purposely withholding information during therapy? Oh, yeah, she goes to therapy now. Cool, right? “I didn’t think you’d be here.” Great answer. That’ll definitely make her look better.

Dom makes a noise that sounds like a mix between a scoff and a laugh. She finally places her gun back in the safe, but she doesn’t lock it. “What difference does that make? You still committed a crime, Darlene!”

Her name casually slips off her tongue, and even though Dom used it in junction with committing a crime, Darlene’s body can’t help but react to it. It sends a jolt to her nervous system, frenetic rounds of electricity zipping through every vein and illuminating every inch of her. It’s like hearing an old favourite song that she hasn’t listened to in years.

She swallows, but the lump in her throat stubbornly remains put. “Guessing you finally got bored of Budapest?”

Dom rolls her eyes, clearly fed up with the way Darlene is avoiding her questions. She raises a hand and runs it through her hair; her sleeve briefly rolls up her bicep and Darlene gets a better look at her tattoos, which she’s never really paid attention to before. She thinks about all the times she could’ve looked at them or asked if there were any stories behind them, but that was when there were more pressing matters to worry about, when they didn’t have the spare time to just sit around and get to know each other better.

But what about now? The Dark Army is no longer a looming threat. Whiterose is a distant nightmare both of them eagerly want to forget. There’s no reason to run and hide anymore. All they have now is time, and they’re free to spend it however they wish.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Dom moves from the safe to her bed. She’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, her hand still rifling through her hair.

“Uh.” She finally wills herself to move, half-turning to face the door. “I should probably just go.”

“So you just break into my apartment in the middle of the night for supposedly no reason, and then just leave?” Dom quirks an eyebrow, and Darlene swallows.

“Yup. Looks like it.” She opens the door with a quivering hand. “Night-night, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Hold on-” Just as Darlene’s about to step through the doorway, Dom sprints over in record time and puts herself between Darlene and the rest of the hallway, closing the door behind her.

“What?” Darlene glares up at her, though on the inside she feels like she’s going to have a stroke.

“You…” Dom breaks eye contact for a second, her eyes wandering as she’s thinking of something to say. “You don’t have to go.”

There’s a weight to her words, and it sinks into her, pulling her heart further down her chest. It’s only hitting her now that this is the first time they’ve seen each other in three months. Dom’s hair is still stupidly red and her eyes are still annoyingly blue, but there’s a liveliness to her expression that wasn’t there before. She’s no longer sleep deprived or worrying herself to death about the safety of her family or whether or not the Dark Army’s going to storm in one day and blow her brains out without warning; she clearly got the R&R she so truly deserved, and Darlene can’t help but be relieved at that. The longer she looks at her, the more her chest aches; the only other person she ever missed before was Elliot, and even then, it didn’t feel like this.

“Darlene.” Dom’s voice pulls her back to reality. They meet eyes again and Darlene can feel her knees threatening to buckle under Dom’s stare; it’s just the way she’s _looking_ at her, with a sad kind of confusion, like her eyes are begging her with questions she doesn’t want to say out loud. _Why are you hesitating? Why can’t you just stay? Why are you only comfortable here when I’m not around?_

It takes a lot of effort to finally speak up. “Get out of my way.” She tries her best to sound intimidating. Hurt flashes across Dom’s face for a split second; she would’ve missed it if she wasn’t paying attention. It only amplifies the ache echoing inside of her.

Dom sighs, but chooses not to say anything else, and steps aside so Darlene can open the door again.

Darlene heads out into the hallway and briefly glances over her shoulder; Dom is leaning against the doorframe, her expression exasperated but her eyes still wide with the sad confusion from before. She swallows hard and speeds down the stairs, determined to get out as fast as possible.

* * *

She refuses to go back to her apartment. She’s just going to wake up from the same old nightmare and try to numb the pain with whatever hard drug she manages to scrounge up first.

So she spends the night wandering the city instead. She takes the train and gets off whenever she feels like it, walks around for a bit, and hops back on when she feels she’s had enough. She keeps herself awake with coffee from 24-hour corner stores and diners. By the time the sun comes up, she’s had her sixth cup.

Not a totally shitty way to spend the night. It could’ve gone worse. Dom could’ve shot her in the face. Dom could’ve turned her in for breaking and entering. Dom could’ve asked why she didn’t bother reaching out after they found out they unintentionally swapped places at the airport.

It’s almost eight by the time Darlene finally decides to head back. When she trudges up the stairs to her and Elliot’s floor, she hears someone call her name from the top of the steps. It’s her brother, and he’s decked out in shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes.

“Darlene?” He says again, pulling off his earbuds. When she joins him at the top of the stairs she notices he’s practically glowing with sweat.

She wrinkles her nose in disgust and laughs. “What the fuck is this?” He looks like a model for one of those Nike advertisements in the subway. It’s jarring to think that three months ago, he would’ve scorned this as much as she is right now.

He blinks, staring at her like she just asked a really stupid question. “I went out for a run.”

She looks like he just force fed her a spoonful of rotten food. “Who _are_ you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Elliot laughs - it’s a full laugh, not just a chuckle or a short puff of amusement. She doesn’t hear him laugh often, even now when he’s doing so much better, so she relishes it. “Krista said that physical activity can help keep me focused...so, last week, I started running in the morning - nothing extreme right now, just an hour around Central Park.” He shrugs. “She’s right. It keeps me grounded. Reminds me that I’m here, that I exist, that all of this is real.”

Well, now she feels really shitty for laughing at him earlier. “They’re letting you do that? Doesn’t that violate the terms of your sentence or whatever?” She eyes him up and down again, her expression unimpressed. “So, like, are you all about self-care now? Are you gonna make a fitspo blog and talk about your top five super foods?” She resorts to humour when she’s uncomfortable. Ben probably has that scribbled down somewhere in his stupid file.

“I got it cleared with the higher ups. It’s for health-related reasons, so they can’t really say no.” Elliot shrugs. “I know it’s a bit weird. Trust me, I find it weird too. I used to think this was all bullshit.”

She crosses her arms. “It _is_ bullshit. It’s just another way of keeping us in a perpetual state of dissatisfaction so we can continue to consume shit we don’t need.”

He chuckles again, completely unperturbed by her cynicism. “Yeah, I guess it is, but it works. At least for me it does.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his head. “Maybe, by being aware of what its true purpose is, we can still use it and reap the benefits without falling victim to it. Manipulate it for our own purposes.”

She smirks. “Wow. Maybe you should start a blog after all.”

He shrugs and pockets his ear buds. “I dunno, Darlene. It’s exhausting hating everything all the time. I don’t want to be like that anymore. Do you?”

Her eyes drop to her boots, letting the silence speak for her. Elliot trying to convince her to be more optimistic is a fucking joke. If she could somehow travel back to three months ago and tell him that he’d be giving her pep talks like this he probably would have called her insane. She feels like she just stumbled into an alternate reality that she clearly doesn’t belong in. She’s half-expecting to see another version of her walking around somewhere. What would that Darlene be like? Would she be happy? Would her apartment actually look like someone lives there? Is she able to sleep through the night in her own bed? Would she have stayed at the airport and boarded her flight to Budapest?

“Hey.” She glances back up; Elliot is giving her a half-smile, and he’s jerking his head towards his door. “Why don’t we grab some breakfast before I head into work? Flipper needs to go for a walk anyway. I just have to hop in the shower real quick and we can go.”

It’s funny how he doesn’t ask where she’s coming from, or if she’s been home at all. Maybe he already knows the answer and he’s just waiting for her to bring it up. Either way, she doesn’t want to talk about it. “Sure. I’ll, uh, wait here.”

“Okay.” He hesitantly makes his way towards his apartment, giving her one last half-smile before closing the door behind him.

* * *

She accompanies Elliot on his commute because she has nothing better to do. When they leave the subway and walk towards FBI headquarters, she feels an uncomfortable shifting in her stomach.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Elliot is wringing the leather strap of his messenger bag.

She adjusts her heart-shaped sunglasses and jostles Flipper’s leash. “Duh. My best girl’s with me. Nothing can go wrong when we’re together.”

He gives her a small, sad smile. “You know what I meant.”

She laughs off his concern, like she always does. “Geez Louise. You weren’t always such a worry wart.”

“I’m always worried about you, even when it doesn’t look like it.” He frowns. “Darlene, you’re my sister.”

“Astute observation, Sherlock.”

“I’m being serious.” They stop by the front steps, and he turns to face her. “I know I wasn’t always there for you when I should have been. That’s something I’m going to have to live with - but I want to be here for you now.”

There’s another lump making its way into her throat. Thank God she’s wearing sunglasses. “I should be saying that. It’s _me_ who should’ve been there for _you.”_

“And you have been.” He reassured her. “These last few months have been the hardest fucking time of my life, even harder than Five/Nine or any of the other shit we’ve been through. At least, back then, I had a purpose. I was working towards something, whether it was trying to reverse a hack I’ve done or stopping Whiterose from destroying the whole fucking world. There was a prize to be won at the end, a reason for all of the shit I was putting us through.” Flipper whines, and he drops to his knees to scratch the spot behind her ear. “But now, everything’s better. We saved the world from the Dark Army and redistributed the wealth of the top one percent of the one percent. Now that everything’s sort of back to normal, I have no choice but to confront my own shit and learn to get better from it, and that’s harder than undoing a cyberterrorist attack or taking down a group of soulless capitalists. It’s been hard, but one of the reasons why I’m still here, why I’m still fighting to stick around and not have another episode, is you. You stuck around when no one else did, even when I didn’t want you to be there. That means everything to me.”

She sniffs and reaches underneath her sunglasses to swipe at her eyes. “Never pegged you for the sentimental type.”

He rises to his feet. “I wish I could’ve said this earlier, when you really needed to hear it - but better late than never.” He pauses, his expression uncertain at first, but then he reaches for her and places his hands on her shoulders, looking past her heart-shaped tinted lenses and into her watery blue eyes. “I just want you to know I love you.”

The last time he said that, he was propped up in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of his body. She wonders if he even remembers, since it technically wasn’t him who said it. Hearing him say it now, knowing that it actually _is_ him and not another alter ego shielding him from this cruel uncaring world, opens up something in her that she kept clammed shut for years. Maybe he doesn’t remember because his other self wanted to give him a chance to say it to her - not as Mr. Robot, not as whoever the hell the other part of him was, but as himself, his _true_ self. The thought of that almost makes her want to start bawling. _Almost._

“Ugh.” She groans and lolls her head back, blinking at the cold sky as the tears trickle down her cheeks. She straightens up and pulls away from his grasp, but keeps her head purposely turned towards the FBI’s front doors. “I guess I love you too.” She grumbles, though she means every syllable, every word.

She can see him smiling out of the corner of her eye. “I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you.”

“Literally.” She adds, gesturing towards the building in front of them. “I sorta got you this gig. It was either this or jail.” She throws him a smirk. “Between you and me, you chose wrong.”

He laughs - another full, genuine laugh - and it almost melts the frozen block of ice that’s holding her heart together. “I gotta head in. You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She wipes the last of her tears away. “Go and do your duty.”

He smiles and and begins to make his way up the steps, but she abruptly lunges forward and throws her arms around him, hugging him as close as she can. He stiffens against her for a second, caught off guard, but eventually he hugs her back. They pull away a couple of minutes later, and she gives him a playful shove. “Okay, now you can go.”

She watches him until he’s past the front doors, and when he’s gone she heaves a sigh and drops her gaze to Flipper, who’s scratching her ear with her back leg. “So, my fine furry friend, what kinds of shenanigans will we get ourselves into today?”

* * *

Now that she’s gotten more comfortable with doing things on her own, she finds it easier to find ways to kill time. It also helps that she lives in a city where there’s always something happening. She can turn any corner and unexpectedly run into anything mildly interesting - a street performer, an amusing argument between a cyclist and a cab driver, another up-and-coming rapper selling his self-produced demo to random strangers - and it’ll easily take up at least twenty minutes to an hour. Once she’s done, she moves onto the next random happenstance. Wash, rinse, repeat.

She also learned that she likes to people watch. She can sit on a bench for hours and make up stories about whoever happens to walk past her. Maybe that guy’s in a hurry because he’s late to a lunch date with his fiancée, who is actually cheating on him with his sister. The old woman with a tinfoil hat and a shopping cart full of old radio equipment might be building some sort of device that enables communication with aliens. The important looking lady in a pantsuit babbling on her phone could be an Interpol agent tailing the guy who just bought a hot dog, who may or may not be an internationally wanted con man.

She’s all the way down in Battery Park by the time late afternoon hits. She should probably head home; Flipper needs to take her medication anyway, and if she leaves now she’ll probably be able to catch Elliot on his way in. Darlene stomps out her cigarette, tucks Flipper into her backpack and leaves the top unzipped so she can poke her head out, and hops onto the subway. She’s back at their building a little more than twenty minutes later; she jumps up the stairs two steps at a time, and just like she expected there’s Elliot by his door, just about to head inside. “Yo.”

He swivels around to face her. “Hey. Where’ve you been?” He chuckles as she swings her bag around so that it’s resting on her chest, and he reaches out to pet Flipper.

“Nowhere important.” She spots the plastic bag dangling from his arm. “Whatcha got there?”

“Dinner.” He opens the front door and she follows him inside. “It’s takeout again - Indian this time.” He heads over to the small kitchen to pull out some plates. “We really need to learn how to cook.”

Another quiet evening ensues, and before she knows it she’s in her dark apartment, sitting in her bed with her back against the wall. Her computer is sitting on her lap, its stark white glow glaring in her face. She opens up her computer’s command line and her fingers go on autopilot, furiously typing in line after line of script. She hits Enter, and the code runs flawlessly. In seconds, a new window pops up.

It’s Elliot’s desktop.

Yes, she knows she shouldn’t be doing this. She and Elliot promised each other they’d stop with the hacking so they can finally focus on more important things, but old habits die hard. What else can she say?

Elliot starts off the way he always does, which is hack into Olivia’s Facebook. He scrolls through her feed, catching up on whatever new content she’s posted in the past few days. There’s a new selfie of her with her kid at some restaurant in Brooklyn, with a caption - _Brunch date!_ \- written above it. That’s all he needed to see: Proof that she still has custody of her son, that she can still legally be around him, that she’s still off the drugs, and that he didn’t send her into another downward spiral after all.

She remembers the day he told her about Olivia. She should have been appalled, she should have been disgusted, she should have told him off and gave him a lecture about how fucked up that was and how there had to be some other way to get what he needed instead of risking her livelihood like that, but that would only make her a hypocrite. He isn't the first person in their family to irreparably hurt someone, to fuck them up for the rest of their lives.

Then again, she isn't the first in their family either.

He leaves Facebook and opens up the command line on his own computer. She watches him type in more script, and she isn’t surprised when another window pops up, because it’s a similar window from last time, and all the times she’s checked in before that.

It’s a Gmail inbox belonging to an adoption agent in Denmark.

He’s been at this for weeks. She’s pretty sure he’s well aware that the chances of finding what - or, more appropriately, _who_ he’s looking for are slim to none, but maybe this is just one of those things he needs to work out on his own. Maybe it’s another process Krista suggested - probably not, but she’s not going to rule it out. Either way, she doesn’t have the heart to tell him. One: She’d just give herself away, and two: Maybe the slight chance of finding Tyrell’s son is what he needs right now. He probably thinks the same about her when he looks into her computer - because there’s no way he _isn’t_ doing it, let’s be honest - and watches her do her own shady shit. There’s no way he _doesn’t_ know how she digitally followed Dom after she left for Budapest, and how she logged in almost religiously, every day for two months, just to check up on her. He probably knows about all the times she hacked into her phone’s microphone just to get an idea of where she is, what she’s doing, who she’s talking to. Just to hear her voice.

He’s also probably wondering why she stopped. She can picture him running all the possible scenarios in his head - she’s given up, she lost interest, Dom decided that Europe’s way nicer and she’s staying there forever - and puzzling over which one is the most probable. Honestly, she wishes she knew why she stopped too. It would’ve helped her avoid the disaster that happened last night.

He scrolls through the agent’s inbox, clicking on a few emails and running them through a translator, but he finds nothing of interest so he leaves. There’s a couple minutes of inactivity - he’s probably figuring out what to do next - and he surprises her when he opens up Facebook again. However, instead of logging in as Olivia, he types in a different email address.

It’s Angela’s.

Her mouth goes dry. Her fingers are frozen above her keyboard. She’s been snooping on her brother for weeks but it’s only now that she feels like she’s _really_ intruding. He typed in her email and her password but he hasn’t logged in yet. It’s almost like he’s hesitating - or maybe he knows she’s watching and he’s trying to ask her if this is okay, if he’s allowed to do this. In all the weeks she’s been hacking into his computer, this is the first time he’s attempted to log in as Angela. She has a feeling he’s been working up to this moment, but now that he’s finally here he’s not sure if he can go through with it. What would he even find if he logged in? It’s not like there’ll be anything new. Maybe he just wants to feel like she’s still here somehow, like her Facebook is some kind of stand-in for the real deal.

Elliot suddenly tabs out of Facebook, and she exhales in relief before closing her laptop. That’s enough excitement for today…or maybe not.

She sits in silence for a second, her fingers drumming against the surface of her laptop, and she sighs in defeat before flipping it open again. She runs a different code in her command line; seconds later, her laptop speakers come to life. A part of her is screaming in her face, demanding to know why she’s doing this, that she’s only making things worse, but she ignores it.

Wherever Dom is, she’s somewhere busy. There’s a thousand different conversations going on at once. It’s not until she hears the distinctive sound of glasses clinking that she realizes where she is - but just to make sure, she opens up the note app on her phone, copies the link there, and pastes it into her mobile browser. It opens up a map of the city, with a single red pin dropped on the location of a very familiar bar.

For some reason she can’t help but think of last night, when Dom looked at her with those dumb sad blue eyes of hers and wordlessly begged her to stay.

_You don’t have to go._

The ache threatens to make a comeback, but she swallows it and scrambles to her feet so she can head into her closet. She undresses and throws on whatever she can find: An oversized olive green army shirt with the sleeves rolled and the bottom half buttoned up, a black tank top, and an old pair of jeans.

She laces up her boots, slides her arms through her jacket, and leaves in a flurry.


	4. I don't want a thing from you

It’s hard not to think about what happened last night. Even with a fully packed morning, Dom can’t help but run through the events in her head as she stumbles down the block with a stack of boxes in her arms. 

At least she knows she isn’t dead. Darlene Alderson is very much alive, and of course the first thing she does after not seeing each other for three months is commit a crime and make Dom’s life a lot more complicated than it has to be. Honestly, a part of her isn’t even surprised that this is how they’re reintroduced. It would’ve been a lot more suspicious if they did things the right way.

She briefly wonders if robbery was the intent, but it doesn’t add up. With #ecoinpayday, Darlene probably has more than enough money stashed away somewhere - that is, if she saved any money for herself. Also, she isn’t really holding anything of value or importance. Now that the Dark Army isn’t an issue, Darlene no longer needs FBI credentials - and, assuming she followed her advice and contacted her friend from Cyber Command (But let’s be honest, she probably hasn’t), she now has her own badge, so if she has another grand scheme to overthrow the bourgeoise she has everything she needs to do it on her own without putting someone else’s life or career on the line.

Then again, if Darlene works for Cyber Command, she wouldn’t need to break in, unless she had provable grounds. Maybe the FBI grew suspicious of Dom’s unexpected vacation? The timing is a little suspicious, with her recently being outed as an unwilling double agent for the Dark Army - but even then, she has more than enough proof to show her innocence. Also, Darlene was _there_ when things with the Dark Army went down, and the incidents with Irving and Janice. If the FBI was suspicious, they could’ve easily just went to her, and she would’ve told them everything they needed to know. Also, if she actually worked for Cyber Command, she wouldn’t be the one doing the investigating - not the physical kind, at least. Also, would the FBI even know she went abroad if she traveled with a fake passport?

So if robbing isn’t the intent, and if Darlene isn’t a secret agent for the FBI or US Cyber Command, why was she there last night?

She actually did want Darlene to stay - not just because she wanted to know why she was there in the first place, but also because it was nice to see her after being separated for so long. As aggravating as she can be sometimes, Darlene is the reason why she ended up going on a last-minute vacation, and there aren’t enough words in her vocabulary to describe how thankful she is for it. It was a happy accident that desperately needed to happen, and out of all the people in the world to instigate it, it’s the tech-savvy lawbreaker with the dumb sunglasses.

She’s so deep in thought that she unknowingly walks straight past the donation centre and towards the end of the block. She finally glances up when there’s no more sidewalk, and she looks around in confusion for a second before gathering her bearings and turning around to walk back. After donating all of her unwanted junk, she makes her way to the laundromat to pick up her clothes, then heads back to her place to fold and put them away. Now that she’s donated a bunch of stuff, her closet looks a lot emptier than before. It could be an excuse to go out and shop for new clothes, maybe something that isn’t a pantsuit, a band tee, or an oversized sweater. Something that reflects her personal tastes, rather than making her look like a walking billboard for workaholism and depression.

Her eyes dart over to her laptop, but she shakes her head and backs away. The old Dom would shop for clothes online, away from the rest of the world, only to have them delivered to her apartment a week later and find out they don’t fit so she has no choice but to return them. These past few months have been all about change and reinvention, a genuine fresh start, a chance to prove to herself that she’s not the person she used to be, and that things can only get better from here.

Fuck it, let’s go shopping.

* * *

She’s back a few hours later, her arms laden with bags and boxes. She kind of went overboard, but that’s okay. It’s been awhile since she spoiled herself. Even on her trip abroad, she tried not to spend so much. A part of her was paranoid the Dark Army was still after her so she felt like she had to make as little of an impact as possible. She only purchased what she needed, which was mostly just food and accommodations. The closest things she has to souvenirs are her boarding passes.

She tried on all of her clothes back at the stores, but she decides to try them on again for fun, mixing and matching different tops and bottoms to see what kinds of new outfits she can come up with. She even bought some workout clothes with the vague promise that she’ll start exercising.

Dom is so busy with her new clothes that she doesn’t even realize it’s well past six in the evening. She realizes, with a panic, that she didn’t clean out her fridge yet - however, when she opens it, she’s both surprised and dismayed to find that it’s completely empty. She totally forgot that depression sometimes takes your appetite away.

It’s not that big a deal. She makes a quick trip to the corner store and picks up a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, mayo, and a six pack of Tecate - she’ll go real grocery shopping tomorrow. When she’s back in her apartment, she warms up the frying pan and minutes later she’s sitting at her tiny kitchen table, happily eating a grilled cheese sandwich. She boots up Netflix on her laptop and resumes some crappy romcom she started a few months back but never got around to finishing. Two crappy romcoms and two Tecates later, she finally decides to clean up. It’s late, but not unbearably late, and aside from groceries she really doesn’t have anything else to do the next day.

Dom places her hands on her hips and looks around her immaculately clean apartment, her eyes slowly drifting over to her closet. She eyes her new clothes, and she bites her bottom lip as she inwardly debates with herself. Should she, shouldn’t she?

Why the hell not?

She throws on some dark jeans and a black sweater, pulls on her boots, tucks into her coat, and heads out.

* * *

The crowd makes Dom a little nervous, but she reminds herself that she’s a goddamn FBI agent who’s been through actual life-or-death situations. She literally pulled a knife out of her lung and sliced a guy’s Achilles tendon before shooting him in the face. Navigating a busy bar should be a walk in the park.

She finds an empty seat by the bar and flags down the bartender for a beer. When her drink arrives, she nervously scans the area as she holds the glass to her lips. People are grouped together, their heads huddled in conversation. Some of them are laughing, some of them are holding up their bottles and glasses in a toast. Some people are sharing nachos, and some people are taking group selfies. She seems to be the only person who’s on their own, which only makes this even more unnerving. She starts to think that maybe this is a bad idea, but she thinks back to her trip and all the times she sat by herself in a bar, and how she didn’t have any trouble making friends there - but that was different. She was a foreigner in an unknown country; it was easier to locate other foreigners who felt just as out of place as she did. Now that she’s back in the States, the playing field is even, which makes it harder to spot the outcasts.

Dom spots one girl awkwardly standing around by herself with a drink in her hand, and she squares her shoulders and rises to her feet, determined to walk over and say hello - but just as she takes a step forward, the girl lights up and rushes over to her friend, who just walked inside. Her face is hot with embarrassment, and she immediately sits back down, swivels around to face the bar, and gulps the rest of her drink. It turns out that her trip overseas helped her change everything except for her social game.

“Smooth.” A voice pipes up from behind, and she tenses at its familiarity. There are dozens of people packed into this tiny bar and they’re speaking at exactly the same time, but she somehow managed to single out that lazy drawl. She imagines she can do it anywhere, in any situation, no matter how many people are talking over each other.

Dom keeps her eyes trained on the shelf displaying the bottles of hard liquor. “Fancy seeing you here.” Darlene abruptly leaving her apartment after breaking into it, only to spontaneously show up the next evening at the bar she just so happens to be at, isn’t surprising at all. She’s as wishy washy as ever.

“Likewise.” She hears the stool next to hers scraping across the floor. She spots Darlene out of the corner of her eye, but she continues to keep her body facing forward. “So, what brings you here on this brisk Friday evening?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She orders another beer.

“Oh, y’know.” Darlene shrugs and rests her elbows on the counter. “Just hanging out.”

“Good for you.” Her second drink comes around, and she immediately takes a sip. “So, are you gonna tell me why you broke into my apartment last night?”

“Going right for the jugular.” Darlene nods with approval. “I like it.”

Dom finally turns to face her, her eyes narrowing. “Well?” Even though it’s really dark in here, she can easily spot the shadows beneath Darlene’s eyes. She looks tired, worn out. Maybe she should’ve asked her what she’s been up to lately - but even if she did, would Darlene answer her truthfully? She’s been avoiding her questions ever since she stumbled back into her life last night.

“Jesus. At least buy a girl a drink first.” Darlene’s resting one cheek in her palm, her mouth slanted in a sly grin.

Dom rolls her eyes and flags the bartender. She orders her a beer, and when it comes she watches Darlene take a sip. “Are you going to talk now?”

Darlene sighs and flips her hair over her shoulder. “I was looking for something.”

She can tell right off the bat that she’s lying, but she decides to play along. She wants to see how far this goes. “Looking for what?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?”

“Because you picked my lock and broke into my place with the clear intent to do something illegal.” Dom raises an eyebrow. “What have you been up to lately? Are you looking for another hideout so you can continue this Robin Hood fantasy with your little friends?”

Darlene scoffs into her glass. “Y’know, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. D’you mind?” When Dom’s eyes widen with panic, Darlene laughs and shakes her head. “Oh my God, I was kidding. Have you been away for so long that you’ve forgotten what a joke sounds like? I’m sure the Hungarians have a great sense of humour.” There’s a pause; her eyes drop to her hands. “Also, FYI: All of my friends are dead.”

That did not go as well as she wanted it to. “Shit.” She rakes a hand through her hair and swallows a third of her glass. “I’m-”

“Don’t even start.” Darlene mutters. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She’s more than halfway through her drink when she remembers that she had two other ones at home, which makes this her fourth drink. Is that why she feels really warm right now? “I’m going to ask you one more time. What were you doing last night?”

“I told you, I was looking for something.” Darlene turns her head away so that she can’t see her expression - another telltale sign that she’s lying. “Your apartment was the last place I remember having it on me, so I thought it would be lying around somewhere.”

 _“What_ did you think would be lying around somewhere?”

“I wasn’t aware this was an interrogation.” Darlene smirks. “Should I run to the bathroom real quick and do my makeup? Gotta look pretty for the camera - you never know who’s watching.”

If she was warm before, she's practically on fire now. Honestly, the punctured lung hurt a lot less in comparison.

“You are such an asshole.” Dom grumbles into her glass, and when Darlene laughs she wants nothing more than to melt off this stool and seep through the floor, but she tries to keep her composure. “If you’re trying to distract me from getting to the bottom of this, you’re more than welcome to try all night. I’m not gonna stop until I get my answer.”

Darlene finishes her beer and waves the bartender over. She asks him for a couple of shots of tequila, but when they come around and Dom refuses to take one, she shrugs. “More for me, then.” She takes the shots easily, one by one, casually pushing the tiny glasses away with one hand and fixing her hair with the other. “It was nothing important.”

Dom can’t help but laugh. “It must’ve been important if you felt like you had to break in instead of just asking me to look for you.”

“Uh, you were in a different fucking country - or at least I thought you were.” Darlene flags the bartender a second time and orders another beer. “This is all on her tab, by the way.” She jerks her thumb toward Dom, who rolls her eyes again.

“You still could have asked.” Dom sighs. “There’s this thing called _texting -_ you should try it sometime.”

“Ha.” Darlene’s second beer arrives and she grasps it with one hand, staring at the foam floating on the top of the glass. Her expression is unreadable, which is rare for her. It’s usually so easy for Dom to figure out what she’s thinking just by the way she looks. “Even if I do tell you what I’m looking for, I doubt you’d be able to help me find it anyway.”

That’s awfully cryptic, even for Darlene. Her heart can’t help but sink when she sees how despondent she is. Whatever she’s ‘looking for’, it must be really important to her. “I’m always up for a healthy challenge. Why don’t we head back and see if we can find it?”

Darlene’s large eyes somehow get even larger. “You…don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t have to, but I want to.” Bringing the suspect back to the scene of the crime may help Dom figure out what her true motives are. She downs the rest of her glass and gestures for her companion to do the same. “C’mon. Finish up that drink and we’ll go.”

She can feel the uneasiness radiating off of her, and she suppresses the urge to smirk and give herself away. This is going to be interesting.

* * *

“Wow.” Darlene gapes, her head moving left to right as she takes in her surroundings. She throws her jacket over one of the chairs by the kitchen table. “You really cleaned up the place.”

A shaky laugh escapes Dom’s lips as she shrugs off her own coat and folds it over the other chair. She shuffles over to the fridge, pulling out two bottles of Tecate. “You probably would’ve noticed earlier if you didn’t leave so soon last night.” She opens both bottles and hands one over to Darlene. “So, where should we start looking? Can you describe it to me?”

Darlene drums her fingers against her drink. Her eyes are shifting everywhere - the kitchen counter, the bookshelf, the table, the cheap painting on the wall that’s been hanging there since Dom first moved in all those years ago. She’s clearly thinking of an excuse, a made-up object so she can send Dom on a wild goose chase, anything to throw her off the scent - but when she finally gives her an answer, it’s not what she expected.

“You should’ve told me.” Darlene’s eyes are hard, accusatory.

Dom blinks back in confusion. “Told you what?”

“That you changed your mind.” Darlene pauses and takes a long swig of her beer. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

They were going to have to talk about this eventually. Dom just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. “I could easily say the same thing about you.”

Darlene slams her bottle on the counter and takes a threatening step forward, but Dom stands her ground. “Do you think you’re being cute by giving me a taste of my own medicine? Answer me.”

“Why should I give you an answer when you’ve been dancing around my questions all night?” Dom crosses her arms. “Tell me the truth and I’ll give you an answer.”

Darlene retreats into her corner in the kitchen, clutching her drink to her chest. Her eyes shift around the apartment again, and Dom’s brow furrows at her peculiar behaviour. Maybe she’s looking at this the wrong way. There are plenty of reasons why a person may want to withhold information. What if someone’s holding her against her will, or she’s under someone’s control? What if she can’t tell her the truth because there’ll be consequences for it? The Dark Army is just of many terror groups out there. For all she knows, Darlene may have gotten herself tangled up with another.

“Darlene.” Dom slowly closes the gap between them, her hand tightening around her drink. “You know you can tell me anything, right? If you’re in any kind of danger, or if someone’s-”

“Jesus.” Darlene shakes her head and takes another sip. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

She heaves a sigh. Her patience is paper thin at this point, but she has to keep trying. “Then what is it?” When Darlene refuses to make eye contact, she sighs again and takes one step back - physically and mentally. Okay, so she isn’t under duress, which is a good thing, but why else would she be reluctant to come forward?

It’s possible she could be ashamed or embarrassed of something - but this is Darlene, the girl who slept with her just so she can sneak into her safe and steal her badge. She clearly isn’t afraid to sink to new lows if that means she gets what she wants, which probably means it takes a lot to humiliate her. Could she have been searching for some sort of refuge or a place to hide because she’s afraid someone will see something they’re not supposed to? What if the thing she’s hiding isn’t an illegal activity, but a secret? And why would she keep this secret here?

Dom scrutinizes Darlene piece by piece -her messy brown hair, her pale face, the dark semicircles underneath her eyes, her slumped shoulders, her wrinkled clothes - and her eyes bulge when she makes a startling realization.

“Where did you go last night?” Dom’s tone is wary, cautious. “After you left?”

Darlene scoffs. She still hasn’t made eye contact. “Nowhere important.”

“Did you go home?” No answer. “Did you stay at your brother’s?” Still no answer. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

Dom can’t recall Darlene ever mentioning a place of residence. The safe house was the closest thing she had to a permanent home, and she obviously can’t use that anymore. “Darlene.” She takes another step forward; she’s so close she could reach forward a few inches and touch her. “Where have you been staying?”

Darlene shakes her head. Her laugh is humourless. “I’m not homeless, if that’s what you’re thinking. I do have a place.” There’s a long pause as she throws her head back and gulps down the entire bottle in one go. “I just don’t like being there.”

She’s finally making progress, but she has to be very careful with her words. She doesn’t want to spook her or do anything that’ll make her want to retreat back into herself. “Is there something about it that bothers you?”

“God,” Darlene laughs again, turning her head to stare at the sink. “You sound like my shrink.”

Dom leans back a little in surprise. “You’re in therapy?”

“Yup.” Darlene’s lips pop at the end of her sentence, exaggerating the ‘p’ in _yup._ “It’s not really going anywhere, but hey - at least I’m doing it, right?” She taps an index finger against her temple. “I gotta be honest, though - it would be nice to know what the fuck’s going on up here.”

Despite the shock written all over Dom’s face, she’s actually glad to hear it. Therapy is practically imperative after everything they’ve been through. She was required to see an FBI-approved counsellor after the whole business with Santiago, and even though she was a bit of a pain in the ass on purpose and refused to open up most of the time, it actually did help a bit. It’s just nice to know that there’s someone out there who’s willing to listen. She should probably look into counselling again, maybe when her admin leave is up.

With that in mind, her eyes soften for Darlene, and she moves to place her bottle on the counter. This new bit of information is forcing her to look at the present situation in a different light. Suddenly she understands why Darlene looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks, and why she’s been avoiding all of her questions up until now. “How’s Elliot doing? Is he holding up okay?”

Darlene relaxes at the change in subject, which means Dom is still on the right track. “Oh, he’s swell.” Her tone is laced with sarcasm. “He runs now. He wakes up at the ass crack of dawn and goes for a spin around Central Park before he heads to work - oh, by the way, he’s your coworker now. Landed him a job with the FBI Cyber Crimes Division, so he’s just like you. Pretty cool, huh?”

“How did you get him a job there?”

“Well, after he was released from the hospital your FBI chums put him under investigation and asked about his connection to the Dark Army. Long story short, they were so impressed - and kind of terrified, which I thought was pretty cool - with him that they gave him two options. One: Go to jail, or two: Serve out his sentence by working with them, under certain conditions. I gave him your Cyber Command contact, who put in a good word even though he’s never met Elliot before. Guess he really trusts your judgement or whatever.” She shrugs. “So yeah, my brother’s a pig now. Oink oink.” Darlene reaches for Dom’s drink and takes a swig. “It’s kinda weird knowing that he ended up becoming someone he would’ve hated a few months ago, but it’s cool I guess. He’s happy, the happiest I’ve seen him in a super long time, and I’d be the shittiest sister in the world if I tried to take that away from him.” She pauses to take another sip, laughing to herself. “I’m talking as if I’m not already the shittiest sister in the world.”

It’s comforting to know that at least one of the Alderson siblings is legally using their talents for good. She’s surprised that Darlene wasn’t implicated, but it also makes a lot of sense. If Darlene would stop at nothing to protect her brother, Elliot would probably do the same for his sister. How many free passes is this girl going to get? Her luck is going to run out eventually. “How can you be a shitty sister if you helped him get back on his feet?”

“Hm,” Darlene hums, her eyes pointing upwards as she pretends to think of an answer. “Well, for starters, I hack into his computer on a regular basis to see what he’s been up to because I don’t think he’s being honest with me - and it turns out I was right.” She’s starting to slur her words. “When he tells me he’s trying something new, like buying new furniture or all that crap with the running, I laugh at him instead of showing support because I don’t know how else to process the fact that he’s trying to move on with his life and that he’s actually succeeding at it - unlike me, who’s doing jack shit.” She raises Dom’s bottle to her mouth and takes another long drink. “I think there’s a part of me that wishes things were still a little bit fucked up - just a little bit.” She holds out an index finger and a thumb to emphasize the _little bit._ “Because at least back then, when the world had more problems, I had a reason to get up in the morning. I had something to do, something to work towards, something to look forward to. But now?” She raises her arms. “What do I have now?”

“You have plenty to look forward to. You’re young, your whole life is ahead of you, and it’s up to you to decide what it’s going to look like.”

“Don't give me that positive affirmation garbage.” Darlene hisses. “You should know by now that everything I touch turns to shit. If it really is up to me to decide how things look from here on out, I’m fucking doomed.” She scoffs and shakes her head. “It’s so fucked up. _I’m_ so fucked up. What kind of person _wants_ things to go wrong? What kind of person _wants_ her brother to stop moving forward so quickly?”

Dom tries to regain composure, to tap into the agent inside of her and keep a straight face, but it’s hard to play cool and collected when someone she cares about is coming undone in front of her. “Everyone deals with trauma differently. Maybe you feel like Elliot’s moving too quickly and you’re afraid he’s going to leave you behind.”

Darlene steadies herself by pressing her palms on the counter. Her head is bent so that Dom can’t see her face. “I just got him back. I don’t want to lose him again.”

She doesn’t really know what she means by that, but she doubts she’ll get her to elaborate, so she goes with, “I think it’s the other way around. He’s going to lose you if you don’t move on with him.”

Darlene sniffles, raising a hand and quickly swiping it across her eyes, then lets out a loud sigh and throws her head back, closing her eyes and fluffing up her hair. When she’s done recomposing herself, she finally makes eye contact with Dom. “I was here because this is the only way I can sleep through the night.”

Dom blinks rapidly as she tries to digest this new bit of information. “What do you mean?”

Darlene sighs again. “I’ve been a shitty sleeper lately. I wake up in the middle of the night because of these stupid nightmares and I can’t fall back asleep. Coming here, sleeping here-” She raises an arm towards the bed on the far side of the room. “-it helps.”

“So you’ve done this...multiple times?” Dom’s expression is a mix between confused and appalled, which seems to amuse Darlene because she’s laughing at her now.

“Bingo.” She reaches for Dom’s bottle and finishes whatever’s left of it. “There, you got the answer you were looking for. Are you gonna arrest me now?”

Dom knows she should be angry. Darlene just confessed into breaking into her home more than once. It’s just another addition to the list of felonies she’s committed since they first met all those months ago, and another addition to the endless list of things Darlene’s done to make Dom’s life a living hell. She should be angry, but she isn’t, and she hates herself for that because that’s pretty much a summation of her feelings for Darlene as a whole: She wants to hate her, to get rid of her, and to never see her again, but she can’t. She’s an itch she can’t scratch, a habit she can’t break.

Darlene Alderson is simultaneously the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to her.

“So,” Darlene smirks. “Now that you got your answer, can I have mine?”

Oh, right. That.

Dom brushes a hand through her hair and drops her gaze to the floor, awkwardly clearing her throat. “I think you already know the answer.”

“What makes you think I do?”

“Because it’s the same reason why you didn’t tell me.” Dom shrugs. “We needed the space to sort things out for ourselves before we...” She vaguely gesticulates at the small gap between them. “Missing each other at the airport ended up being a happy accident. If we ran into each other, I don’t think I’d be where I am right now.” She runs her fingers through her hair again, brushing it back so it doesn’t fall into her eyes. “You were right. I needed to get away. I wouldn’t have been able to get better if I didn’t take time for myself.” The corner of her mouth twitches in a sad smile. “I was hoping you’d do the same.”

“I have been.” Darlene counters, though she doesn’t sound very convincing. “I told you I was seeing a shrink. I haven’t had a panic attack in weeks.”

“That’s good - about your panic attacks, I mean.” Dom sighs. “But all the stuff you just told me earlier, about the nightmares and whatever, that’s what you should be telling your therapist, if you haven’t already. You said you weren’t making much progress, but is it possible you’re just not making an effort because of all the things you just said - about wishing things were still messed up, about needing to have a problem to solve?” When Darlene shrugs, she sighs again. “This _is_ a problem, and you should be determined to solve it. I was able to leave you at the airport that day because I knew you’d be okay on your own.”

“I _am_ okay on my own.” Darlene’s eyes narrow just a bit. “I can handle being alone. It’s just that...” She shrugs again and looks away, keeping her eyes on anything but Dom. “You and Elliot make it look so easy. You take a few months and suddenly it’s like all the shit we’ve been through never happened.”

“Neither of us are pretending that we never went through all of that.” Dom shakes her head and her red tresses flop over her face again, so she hastily brushes them away. “And it’s not easy. It never was easy. I’m just taking it one step at a time, and I’m sure your brother is too. I have really good days, but I also have really bad ones. I’m just trying to have as little bad days as possible.” She pauses for a few seconds, hoping her words are getting through to her. “I’ll get some days where I _just_ made it, or I scraped by with the bare minimum, and I learned to be okay with that as long as I use them as motivation to keep chipping away at it. When you’ve drifted as far out as I have, it’s unrealistic to think you’ll be able to swim back to shore so quickly. You’ll have days when all you can do is just tread, and that’s fine, as long as you’re not drowning like you were before. Sometimes...being better is just about trying to keep your head above water.”

They lapse into a heavy silence. Darlene is still trying to find something to stare at, and Dom is just wishing she could find the magic words to instantly fix her and get rid of everything that’s been haunting her lately.

“What if,” Darlene speaks up, her tone breathy and uncertain; it’s almost childlike, which is startling to Dom. Her eyes are fearfully wide and her lip is trembling; the last time Dom saw her like this, she was trying to convince her to shoot her in the chest with the same gun that’s sitting in her safe. “What if I actually try to get better, and it doesn’t work? What if I’m just supposed to be this terrible person forever, and you and Elliot knew it all along, and that’s why it feels like you’re leaving me behind?”

“You know that’s not true.” Dom crosses her arms. “We want you to get better and we know you’re capable of doing it. It hurts us to see that you aren’t trying.”

It takes awhile for Darlene to come up with a reply. “Back at that weird barn, or cabin, or whatever your boss took us to.” She starts to rub her forearm. “When Irving killed him and you had to take over as the Dark Army’s mole.”

It’s a memory she desperately wishes to forget, but if Darlene wants to talk about it she’ll grit her teeth and bear it for now. “What about it?”

“You said that your whole life was ruined because of me.” Darlene swallows hard, and the hand on her forearm begins to rub more vigorously. “And that all I deserved for the rest of my life was pure and utter agony.”

Shit - she did say that, didn’t she? “I shouldn’t have said that. I was angry, and hurt. I was hurting _a lot_ , if you weren’t able to tell. A million things happened all at once that day and I was wrong to take it out on you.”

Darlene scoffs, but her lip is still trembling and her eyes are shiny with unshed tears. “In my experience, people tend to be the most honest when they’re hurt.”

She kind of wants to know the context behind that, but now's not the time to ask. “That’s not true.” Dom sighs and rumples her hair with one hand. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t look like it but I do regret saying those things to you. Maybe I meant them in the moment, but I definitely don’t anymore, and I haven’t for awhile. Believe me when I say I want you to get better, Darlene.” She sucks in a deep breath, holds it in for a couple of seconds, then slowly exhales. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, so seeing you like this...it sucks.”

“Fuck.” Darlene squeezes her eyes shut just as the tears start to flow again. She groans as she wipes them away with her sleeve. “I know I’m supposed to be figuring this out on my own and all that bull crap, but at this point I think all I need is someone to tell me what to fucking do.” She buries her face in her hands, unable to keep it in anymore. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, and every time I try, I end up making things worse. Just...tell me what to do, Dom - or if you don’t know, tell me who does. I just need someone to tell me what I have to do to make things better and to stop feeling like shit all the time because I really don’t fucking know and I don’t think I ever will.”

She’s seen this girl take down the world’s largest conglomerate. She witnessed her stealing from the richest of the rich and giving all of that money back to the people who reluctantly handed it over to them. The codes she wrote over the past year had the power to ruin peoples’ lives in an instant. She can hack into complex security systems and dismantle companies, organizations, secret societies, and the selfish clods who run them, in mere minutes - maybe an hour if it’s _really_ complex. She’s one of the most brilliant people she’s ever met, and to see her unraveling so quickly at the thought of being left behind and the possibility that she’s doomed to be the same person forever - it breaks her heart.

“Darlene.” Dom steps in again, closing the gap between them, and wraps her arms around her small frame, pulling her close. She feels Darlene resist at first, holding her own fists against her chest like she’s protecting herself from something, but she slowly begins to defrost, and she ends up clinging to her, her trembling hands pressed against her shoulder blades. “At the risk of sounding cliché,” She murmurs into her hair. “It has to get worse before it gets better. This is something you have to figure out on your own, but that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through the process by yourself. You have Elliot, and you have me.” Dom tightens her hold, as if to wordlessly reassure Darlene that she’s here to keep her together for now until she figures out how to do it herself. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now - and I’ll be honest with you, it won’t for awhile -but it’s going to be okay. _You’re_ going to be okay. You’re smart, smarter than I’ll ever hope to be, and you’re tough. You’re gonna figure this out.”

Darlene chokes on a sob, and Dom soothingly rubs circles on her back. She lets Darlene cry into her shoulder, soaking the fabric of the sweater she just bought hours before; they stand there for what feels like hours, but Dom doesn’t mind. She knows what it’s like to need to cry it out of her system, to be able to be given the opportunity to just let it all out.

Darlene’s sobs eventually subside, and when Dom feels it’s safe enough she pulls away a bit to look at her - only to step back in surprise when Darlene unexpectedly rises up and presses her lips against her own.

Her blue eyes are initially wide with shock, unable to process what’s happening, but then she sinks into the familiarity of it all - Darlene’s hands clutching her shoulders, their hips pressed together, the unmistakable heat radiating between them - and it all comes back to her, sweeping over her like a tidal wave. She suddenly remembers rushing to the gate at the airport, glancing around and wondering if Darlene boarded yet. She remembers the flight attendant asking her if she’s missing anything, and how her first reaction was to stare at the empty seat next to her. She remembers all of this and her eyes finally flutter to a close, allowing herself to enjoy the moment, to soothe an ache that’s been plaguing her since the plane glided off the tarmac in Boston three months ago.

She can taste the alcohol on her tongue and it somehow makes her want more; her arms tighten around her and she steps in again, gently pushing Darlene against the kitchen counter. She hears Darlene sigh against her mouth and she shifts around so that they’re angled away from the kitchen. Darlene gets the hint and briefly breaks the kiss, her chest heaving for air as she grabs Dom’s wrist and pulls her towards the bed. Dom dumbly follows, her eyes heavy-lidded and glazed over; when they reach the foot of the bed she lunges forward and kisses her hungrily, hands gripping her hips as Darlene’s move up to grasp her face. They fall into bed together, still tangled up in one another, hands and mouths roaming everywhere, desperately making up for lost time.

Their conversation definitely isn’t over, but they don’t have to finish it right now. Neither of them have anything else to say for the night.


	5. I am hanging onto every word you say

The sun streaks through the windows and flashes directly into Darlene’s eyes, prompting her to groan and throw a hand over her face. Her head kind of hurts, and her body aches everywhere, like she was somehow hit by a freight train in her sleep.

She blinks as her eyes slowly get into focus, and she suddenly remembers she’s in Dom’s apartment. There’s something warm and heavy draped over her waist; she glances down and swallows hard when she finds Dom’s bare arm wrapped around her.

Their conversation from the previous night suddenly pops into her memory as she lies stiff on her side, frozen with panic. Don’t get her wrong - she doesn’t regret a single thing that happened last night. It actually feels good that she got everything out in the open, and that Dom helped her confront some very hard truths that she really needs to start accepting. That’s all fine and dandy - but where does that leave them? What exactly are they now, if they ever were a thing to begin with?

Darlene glances over her shoulder, and when she spots Dom peacefully slumbering with her mouth slightly agape and her crazy red hair thrown all over the place, her chest threatens to implode. She’s been in countless relationships before, but she always made it abundantly clear with her partner that it isn’t anything serious and it’s more for the sake of just having someone there to fill in the spaces her loneliness would normally take up, rather than a desire for a deep, intimate connection with another person. The thought of sharing her life with someone, revealing her innermost thoughts and feelings, being emotionally available and not just physically - scares the shit out of her, which is ironic seeing as she used to be deathly afraid of being alone. When Cisco first brought up Budapest she laughed it off before she realized he was being serious. Hell, even before that, he fucking _proposed_ to her, and her first reaction was to dump him and run away. It’s like she’s been hardwired to reject any attempt to get closer to her, to really get to know her.

But with Dom, it was never really like that. Sure, it may have started out as a ploy so she can steal from the FBI, but like most things in her life that plan ended up taking an unexpected turn, and she ended up making her first serious connection with someone who isn’t her brother. Dom is probably the only person out there, aside from Elliot of course, who’s seen her at her most vulnerable, and the fact that she’s okay with it, that she kind of wants to keep being vulnerable around her because she knows Dom wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, _really_ scares her.

Funny how, just a few months ago, Darlene warned Dom not to _overthink this._ Maybe karma exists after all.

She slowly, carefully, skillfully slides out from beneath Dom’s embrace and scrambles to the edge of the bed, hastily picking her clothes up off the floor - but just as she finishes buttoning up her shirt the guilt comes creeping in and she sighs, throwing her head back and staring at the ceiling. If she really wants to try this _improving myself so I can be better for my loved ones_ thing, she can’t start with Dom. Elliot’s the first person she needs to talk to, and then she can come back to this. The thing is, she doesn’t really want to leave yet.

She half-turns to glance back at Dom, who’s still fast asleep, burrowed beneath the sheets, and her chest begins to ache. She doesn’t deserve to wake up alone, without an explanation.

“Goddammit.” She buries her face in her hands. She admits defeat.

Darlene doesn’t have the heart to wake her, which means she has to wait until she gets up on her own. She rises to her feet and makes a beeline for the shower, figuring that will kill enough time for now, and it’ll probably help with the hangover. When she emerges half an hour later, her head cocked to the side as she vigorously rubs her damp hair with a towel, her senses are suddenly invaded with what smells like toasted bread. Is she having a seizure?

“Morning.” She drops the towel and her head snaps towards the source of the noise; Dom’s dressed in the same shorts and Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt getup from two nights ago, bent over the stove in the kitchen with a spatula. Darlene notices the pair of boxy black glasses sitting on her nose, and her brow crinkles with confusion. Dom wears glasses? Since when?

“Uh.” Darlene blinks as Dom makes her way towards the small table with a plate full of grilled cheese. “Hi.”

“I made breakfast.” She sets the plate down and sits, grabbing one of the sandwiches and biting into it with a loud crunch. She gestures for Darlene to sit, so she does. “Or brunch. I think it’s late enough to consider it brunch now.”

Darlene didn’t think she was hungry before, but the smell and the way the cheese is oozing out between the slices of bread is quickly changing her mind. She reaches for the last sandwich and takes a bite, blinking in disbelief. “Damn, Dom. You make a mean grilled cheese.”

They eat in awkward silence - well, it feels more awkward for her. Dom looks like she’s having the time of her life, humming to herself as she picks off the rest of the cheese sticking to her fingers. When Darlene is halfway finished with her food, Dom finally speaks up. “Look, if you have to go, you can go.” When Darlene gapes at her, she laughs. “This isn’t a hostage situation.”

“It’s not...” She doesn’t remember the last time she struggled to come up with something to say. “Don’t think-”

“I’m not.” Dom doesn’t look the least bit concerned, which is only making this weirder. “Whatever it is you need to do, do it. When you’ve got it all figured out, I’ll be here.” She shrugs. “Probably eating another grilled cheese sandwich. I forgot how much I missed them. Didn’t have a single one in Budapest.”

“Dom.” Darlene sets her half-eaten sandwich down. “There’s just…there’s something I have to sort out with Elliot first. Once that’s done, I’ll-”

“I told you.” Dom reaches over, grabs whatever’s left of Darlene’s sandwich, and bites into it. “I’ll be here.” Darlene continues to gape at her, and she rolls her eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Darlene’s expression is still very confused as she slowly gets up from her seat, and she remains confused when Dom hands over her jacket before gently pushing her towards the door. When Dom opens it, she turns around to face her. “I-”

Dom grabs her by the collar and suddenly pulls her in, smashing their lips together. She breaks the kiss a few seconds later, pulling back but keeping her fists enclosed around her jacket. Darlene is still dumbstruck.

“Go.” She says, and flattens her palms against Darlene’s chest, pushing her through the doorway and out of her apartment. The door shuts in her face, finally snapping Darlene out of her haze. Dom’s right. She’s always right.

She squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, then turns on her heel and makes her way down the stairs.

* * *

She spends about an hour pacing her barren living room, thinking about what to say. How does she bring it up? Does she just casually let it slip that she’s sort of been spying on her brother for the past few weeks even though they promised they wouldn’t do that anymore?

And the whole thing with Angela’s Facebook - how does she bring _that_ up? They haven’t talked about her in months. It’s a subject both of them have been avoiding, even though they should probably revisit it. What about with the adoption agencies in Denmark? She wasn’t even aware Elliot and Tyrell were close until the FBI showed her proof. It’s obviously something Elliot doesn’t want to share with her - but even if he doesn’t want to talk to her about it, he should at least know that she’s there in case he ever changes his mind, right? And the Olivia thing - he only mentioned her once or twice before. 

How will Elliot react to everything? What if he gets angry over his privacy getting invaded? What if she accidentally triggers something and he relapses? What if he retreats back into himself and becomes someone else again, and he forgets who she is, and they have to revisit the whole process of getting him to remember everything?

Her chest tightens as her brain continues to rattle off one worst case scenario after another. She presses a sweaty palm against the wall, hunching over as she tries to catch her breath. Stars blink in and out of her eyes and she swallows hard, trying to focus, trying to force herself to stay in the moment, to stay on task, but she can feel herself floating farther and farther away. She begins to hyperventilate as she thinks about Elliot disappearing again, and the tears spring to her eyes as she sinks to her knees. Why does she have to fuck everything up? Why can’t she just keep her head down and do what’s expected of her for once? Why can’t-

There’s a knock at her door. “Darlene?”

It’s Elliot.

She tries to shout back, but it’s hard to speak between gasps. It’s getting harder and harder to come up for air.

She can hear him fiddling with the doorknob. “Hey, I can hear you. Are you okay?”

She can barely see her door; her vision is quickly fading in and out as her lungs take in less oxygen. Darlene tries to speak again, but her voice comes out in a strangled cry. Fuck - she has to say _something._ She needs to let him know she’s not okay.

“In…” She chokes, but she knows she can’t give up, so she forces her vocal cords to work; she strains them as she speaks up as loud as she possibly can. “In…init 1. Init 1…in-“ She wheezes as she begins to hyperventilate again.

“Shit - hold on.” He stops for a moment, and she can hear his retreating footsteps and the sound of another door opening. There’s the sound of a door closing, more footsteps - then her lock clicks, and in comes Elliot with Flipper trailing behind him. He pockets his spare key and makes his way over to her, kneeling beside her and grasping her shoulders. “Darlene, look at me.”

She slowly cranes her neck to face him, but she’s having trouble concentrating. There are more stars now, and they’re flickering so quickly she can barely tell where his eyes are. “Darlene.” He utters again, squeezing her shoulders reassuringly. “Take a deep breath. Keep your eyes on me.”

Darlene swallows and tries to follow his instructions as best she can, but the stars keep multiplying and she doesn’t know how to make them stop. Her shoulders are trembling as her lungs beg for air, and she collapses against him, alternating between wheezing and sobbing. She tries to speak again, but she can’t find her voice.

Elliot glances around the room, as if he’ll find the solution lying around somewhere. “The first Father’s Day after Dad died. Mom was being an asshole, so we snuck out and went to the movies. What did we watch?”

What a strange question to ask. Darlene furrows her brow and quizzically stares at him, but she tries to answer him anyway. “T-the,” She takes in another breath in an attempt to compose herself. “The Cable Guy.” Her voice is haggard, but she’s glad she can speak at all. “W-we…we were too young to get in b-by ourselves, so we bought tickets to…” She squeezes her eyes shut for a second, forcing herself to recall the memory. “The Hunchback…of Notre Dame. Then we…snuck into the other theatre.”

“That’s right.” Elliot nods again. “Then a week later, Mom had to call someone in to fix our cable, and we were so scared of the guy that-”

“We climbed out the window and spent the day at Angela’s.” The stars are gradually fading away, and it’s getting easier to breathe. “We made a pillow fort in the living room. We stayed up late eating pizza rolls and a shit ton of candy.” She sits up, shaking her head and shifting so that her back is against the wall. 

Elliot’s hands are still on her shoulders, holding her steady even though she no longer needs them there. “Breathe.” He reminds her, and she takes in a deep breath. She holds it for a few seconds, then slowly exhales. “Good. Do that again.” She breathes in again, holds it, and exhales. She repeats this until the stars are completely wiped out and her lungs no longer feel like they’re going to explode. “Feel better?” When she nods, he moves to sit next to her, but he remains close, his bicep pressed against hers.

“Yeah, but why did you ask me that?” She turns to look at him, noting his dark blue jeans and wine red Henley with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. It’s still really weird to see him without that black hoodie, but she has to keep reminding herself that he wasn’t himself when he was wearing it. It's weirdly comforting to know that her real brother knows how to dress himself.

“When someone’s having a panic attack, the best thing to do is to keep them distracted from whatever’s causing it.” He shrugs and drops his eyes to his lap, fiddling with his hands. “That was the first distraction I could come up with.”

“Huh.” Darlene blinks. That actually makes a lot of sense. “Did Krista teach you that?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Looked it up once when I was bored at work.” The smile stretched across his lips is sad, almost rueful. “Figured it would come in handy one of these days.”

She laughs bitterly to herself. “Ben's going to have a fucking field day with this.”

“There's nothing wrong about it. We all need help every once in awhile; it doesn't mean you've taken a step back.” Elliot shrugs. “I know asking for help isn't your thing, but you did it anyways. If anything, it's a sign you're progressing.”

She can feel her eyes watering again, and she quickly swipes at them. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Flipper pads her way over to them, and he pulls her onto his lap. “Do you…wanna talk about it?”

 _Here we go._ Darlene sucks in another breath, closing her eyes as she exhales. “I do, actually. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I don’t really know how to say it, and I’m scared you’re gonna get really mad and you’ll just shut me out again.”

Elliot looks a little taken aback, but he nods slowly, scratching behind Flipper’s ears. “Try me.”

“When you got out of the hospital, we promised each other that we’d drop the hacking shit for awhile. We said we’d stop and focus on getting better, and then we can go back and save the world again if we really needed to. Do you remember that?” She can reel the anxiety bubbling up inside of her, threatening to make a comeback, and she hesitates.

“Yeah. What about it?” Elliot asks. There’s something about the way he’s looking at her that gives her the impression that he already knows what she’s going to say, and it isn’t making this any easier.

But she knows she has to do this. She can’t move on with her life if she doesn’t tell him the truth. She can’t be the sister he needs her to be if she continues to hide this from him - so she takes in another deep breath, and it’s like a dam inside of her somewhere crumbles to pieces; the words begin to tumble out of her mouth, overflowing and shapeless.

“Well, it turns out that I’m not very good at keeping promises - surprise, surprise - and I broke it pretty much immediately after we made it. I’ve been logging on almost every night and looking into your desktop to see what you’ve been up to. I know you check up on Olivia because you feel guilty over what you did to her and you want to make sure you didn’t ruin her life. I also know about the adoption agencies in Denmark and how you’ve been trying to find Tyrell’s kid because you want to make sure he ended up with a good family, and I think you’re doing this because you feel like you owe it to Tyrell, like you have to know on his behalf. And…” She pauses to catch her breath; she takes a quick look at Elliot and she nearly barrels into another panic attack when she realizes she can’t read his expression, but she forces herself to continue. “I saw you trying to log into Angela’s Facebook. I know you didn’t end up doing it, but I know why you wanted to. I should’ve just done the right thing and talked to you about what you’ve been going through. I know it hasn’t been easy for you and I’m definitely not making this any easier, and if you hate me for it I totally get it. I just need you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this, and I’m sorry for all of the fucked up things I’ve done to you in the past. I have to be better - I _need_ to be better. I know that now. And it has to start here, with you.”

She’s out of breath by the time she finishes talking. Elliot’s still sitting in silence, his expression pensive. He doesn’t look angry, or surprised. He doesn’t look much of anything, to be honest. She waits with bated breath, forcing herself to keep her eyes on him in case she misses anything. She briefly thinks about speaking up again, but she’s scared it’ll ruin everything, so she keeps quiet.

A full minute of silence later, Elliot raises his head and finally makes eye contact. He’s smiling, which is a good sign. “It’s okay, Darlene.”

She’s glad he isn’t pissed, but she still can’t process his reaction. “What?”

“It’s okay.” He repeats himself. Flipper is curled up in his lap, fast asleep.

She continues to gawk at him. “How the hell are you not mad? Did you have a bowl of Valium for breakfast?”

He lazily shrugs his shoulders. “I told you - it’s exhausting being angry all the time. I used to buy into all that shit, you know - acting all high and mighty because I’m supposedly the only one who can see the world’s flaws while everyone else seems to be perfectly content with conforming and blending in. It made me feel better about the shitty decisions I was making, and it was a distraction from my own problems. As long as I could find something or someone to pin the blame on, I wouldn’t have to hold myself accountable. I somehow convinced myself that this anger I felt all the time was a sign that I was just more aware or conscious of the world’s problems.” He shakes his head. “The irony of it all is that all I really wanted was to be happy, to not be so alone all the time - but the things I did only alienated me from everyone else. The more I psyched myself into this _me versus them_ mentality, the worse I felt. I was more alone than ever.”

Darlene frowns. “But you aren’t exactly wrong, either. Some people _are_ just blindly following along with shit. You shouldn’t feel bad for calling them out.”

“I guess, but then it got to the point where I was just straight up refusing to do anything about it.” He shakes his head. “I just wanted to be angry for the sake of being angry. I ripped on people who didn’t deserve it. People who are really trying to improve and become better versions of themselves...I’d look at them and think it’s bullshit even though they’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant it. It just made me look like some kind of self-centred hypocrite, preaching about how all that shit doesn’t work yet I was doing jack shit about my own problems. Sure, there are _some_ things that I still think don’t work-”

“Like horoscopes and kombucha?” She chimes in, and he laughs.

“Yes, exactly, but other things like therapy, exercise, eating right, trying to be more social - actionable decisions towards a happier, healthier, better life...why should I look down on someone who genuinely wants to try these things?”

“Because conglomerates exploit these decisions.” Darlene quips. “They slap a designer name on it, rack up the price, and tell you that this is what you need to achieve true happiness. They warp good-meaning shit and use it for their own devices so they can turn a quick buck, and most people are either too lazy or too depressed to tell the difference.”

“But it’s not entirely their fault.” Elliot counters. “Maybe I should be harder on some people, but for the most part I think we’re all just working towards the same goal, which is to just be happy, and we’re doing whatever we can to get there. I get that there’s a whole damn economy built on exploiting happiness, but...I dunno. I don’t think it’s that black and white. At least not anymore.” He rubs the back of his head. “Is everyone out there with a pair of Nikes and an iPod desperate for attention? Does every gym selfie on Instagram scream _I need validation?_ Not exactly. It could be that they just heard that a good pair of shoes and some music can really help motivate them to go out for a jog. Maybe they’ve been posting progress photos on their Instagram because they found a supportive, positive community that cheers them on every time they see and feel a difference with themselves. Neither of these things don’t necessarily mean that everyone out there’s a mindless drone forking over their money to heartless billionaires, or that they feel like the things they do with their lives don’t count unless it’s posted on social media. I’d like to give some people more credit than that.” He gently rubs one of Flipper’s ears between his fingers. “I dunno. Some of those things may not work for me, but that doesn’t mean they won’t work for others.”

He really has changed since that day he woke up in the hospital. In a strange way, she kind of misses the old Elliot - the angry, resentful, bitter outsider who constantly complained about the shallowness of social media and the various ways corporations have been fucking people over throughout the years…but maybe she only feels that way because it’s what made him so relatable to her. She harboured that same resentment, that same anger that he continuously kept throwing back into the world. They were hurting at the same time, and when they were hurting together she felt closer to him - it was that shared pain that spurred them into starting fsociety in the first place, after all -but now Elliot no longer has a reason to be angry. He doesn’t want to hurt anymore, and it’s that desire to crawl out of that pain that makes her feel like she’s losing him…but like what Dom said, it’s actually the other way around. Her refusal to do something about it, to just sit here and stew in her hatred forever, is what’s putting some distance between them.

She’s never going to use her Instagram for gym selfies, and you won’t catch her dead with Nikes and an iPod strapped to her arm doing laps around Central Park, but there has be some other way out of this. She just needs to suck it up and finally start looking.

A part of her wants to continue with this debate, but she knows if they keep this up they’ll just continue to talk in circles for the rest of the day. “So...what exactly does this have to do with me spying on you for the past few months?”

“I went off on a tangent there, sorry - but what I’m trying to say is that there’s no use in getting pissed off over things that don’t really matter in the long run.” He shrugs again. “I mean, it’s pretty shitty, what you did, but I get it. It’s partially my fault for not reaching out to you about all of that stuff. Maybe if I talked to you about these things you wouldn’t have felt the need to go behind my back.”

“No.” Her stare is as hard as her tone. “Don’t you dare take any responsibility for this. You’ve been busting your ass these past few months trying to make things better for yourself, and I just have to ruin it like I always do.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” He reassures her. “Communication only works if all parties are fully invested. We both broke our promise, just in different ways.” Flipper rolls over in her sleep, and he pats her belly. “I should’ve talked to you...” He trails off for a moment, sighing. “And I should’ve been better to you overall - not just with this, but with everything we’ve been through. We _both_ did really fucked up things to each other, even if we had the best intentions. You’re not the only one who made mistakes here, Darlene. I’m sorry too.”

“Ugh.” There’s a _thunk_ as the back of Darlene’s head comes in contact with the wall. “Why do we fucking suck so much?”

Elliot chuckles, and she turns her head to glance at him. “Runs in the family, I guess, but we don’t have to suck forever. Can we make a new promise? Let’s be more honest with each other - for real this time. No more hacking into each other’s computers. When something comes up, we tell each other right away.”

“Deal.” She reaches for his hand and links their pinkies together. “Here’s hoping we don’t fuck it up like we always do.”

He smiles and holds up their joined pinkies. “Got it.”

She wraps one hand around his bicep and leans in to rest her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and heaving a sigh as she listens to Flipper’s snoring. They sit in comfortable silence for a little while, enjoying each other’s company. It’s nice, just sitting here like this.

“Do you remember when that weird lady kidnapped you and took you to her house?” Elliot suddenly pipes up, and she lifts her head off his shoulder to stare at him.

“Yeah.” They never talked about this before, so this is a surprise. “Why?”

“It was one of the worst days of my life - worse than when all that shit with Moon Pie went down.” Elliot lowers his head, and she leans back a bit to gawk at him. “I was the first one who noticed you were gone. Mom and Dad, they just argued the whole time. Tried to figure out who was to blame, who the wrong one was in this situation. I was the only one who bothered looking.”

There’s a long pause as Darlene struggles to find the proper words. It’s apparently Honesty Hour With The Aldersons, and it doesn’t look like it’s ending any time soon. “You never told me any of this before.”

“Because I technically wasn’t around these past few years to tell you.” He chuckles, though there’s no humour to it. “Seriously, Darlene, this therapy shit...it’s amazing, what it can do.” He sighs. “Anyways, when we got home, that’s when they finally decided to call the cops. I wanted to sneak out and tell Angela so we could look for you, but I was afraid that if I left, I’d miss something important, so I stayed. I waited in my room for hours. I don’t think I slept that night. When the cops finally showed up the next day I didn’t know what to think. It could’ve meant anything - they could’ve found your body, they could’ve just showed up to tell us that they still couldn’t find you - but then you were there, and...well, you know the rest.” The hand on his knee twitches a bit; he’s thinking of reaching out to her again. “I was this close to losing the only real family I had that day.”

He’s been really sentimental lately. This is probably the first time she’s seen him this emotional in years. Krista must be _really_ good. “Elliot.” She reaches for his hand and squeezes, silently reminding him of the promise they made to each other so many years ago - the one promise they haven’t broken. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

He gives her a small smile and squeezes back, confirming that he remembers their promise. “I know.” He pauses, looking away for a moment, then looks back. “Do you still think about her?”

She doesn’t need to ask him who he’s talking about. Her chest is starting to feel heavy, like someone’s pouring water into her lungs. “I try not to.” She admits, her voice hoarse. “If I do, I’m just gonna lose my fucking mind again.”

She’s not lying. She tries to push any thought about Angela as far back into her mind as she possibly can. Anything that remotely reminds her of the friend she lost has the power to pull her apart, to rip her into pieces so tiny it’ll take a lifetime to put her back together. The guilt is still there. It’s always going to be there, regardless of whether or not it’s their fault. It’s a blight, a stain she won’t ever be able to scrub out. It’s there to stay, and she’s going to have to learn to live with it. It’s a pill she’s still trying to swallow.

“Whiterose sent a photo.” Elliot speaks up after a few minutes of heavy silence. “To prove that she was really...you know.”

A part of her is telling her to be angry with this, that he should’ve told her ages ago, that he should’ve shown her the photo so she wouldn’t have had to spend all those weeks wondering if the Dark Army was just playing tricks with them like they always do - but she can’t find it in herself to feel that way. It’s too late to be pissed off.

She thinks about all those times she swore she saw her wandering the streets, pushing that little cart in her soiled robe, and her heart breaks a little bit more. None of those little glimmers of hope, drug-infused or not, were true. Angela was never there.

“I... _he_ couldn’t show it to you.” Elliot breaks the silence again. “It would’ve killed you. I think he knew that.” He lets out a shaky sigh. “I’m scared that one day, I’ll wake up and I won’t remember what she looks like, or what she sounded like.”

“That’s never going to happen and you know it.” She somehow manages to find her voice again. “I’m glad you, or he, or whoever the fuck you were at the time, didn’t show me. You’re right - it would’ve messed me up.” She tilts her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “I miss her, though. A whole fucking lot.”

“Me too.” Elliot sighs. “I wish I did things differently. I don’t know what I would’ve done, but whatever it was, I wish I did it just so she can still be here. She _deserves_ to be here. I wish she could’ve seen what we’ve done.” He pauses, his eyes dropping to their joined hands. “I think she would’ve liked it.”

_I think she would’ve liked it._

It’s suddenly dawning on her that Angela, the one other person in this world who felt like family, is gone, and she’s never coming back.

But that’s the thing: Angela, their parents, the Dark Army; they’re in the past now. There’s nothing she can do about it except acknowledge that it is what it is, and that she has to try and make the best of it, even when it feels like there’s nothing to feel hopeful or optimistic about. It would be a complete disservice to Angela - hell, to Mobley, Trenton, Romero, Cisco, and all of the other friends they lost, if she continues the way she is now: Angry, alone, refusing to connect with the world she helped save. She should be focusing on what lies ahead, like therapy with Ben, the lost time she’s making up with Elliot, and whatever the hell she has with Dom. She really needs to start fucking trying - if not for herself, for Angela, who probably would’ve rolled her eyes if she saw her now. She wouldn’t have wanted her to be like this. If she continues with the way she is now, Angela’s death, and all the other deaths that came before hers, would’ve been in vain. Maybe that’s why Elliot is trying so hard to move on - because he knows this, he knows Angela and their friends would’ve wanted the both of them to heal, to grow, to get better.

She tries to sum that up with fewer words, but all she can come up with is, “I dunno, maybe the best way to remember her is to just keep going. To keep moving forward even though we don’t feel like it sometimes.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a hopeful smile, and he nods in agreement. “Yeah. You’re right.” He takes in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “That’s everything, I swear. I’m not hiding anything else.”

She gingerly nudges his shoulder with her own. “So you haven’t...checked up on me? Like how I did with you?”

“No, but it was tempting.” He admits. “I was really close a few times, but I managed to stop myself. It wasn’t easy, though.”

Darlene snorts. “The most obvious solution here is to lock up our machines so we can’t reach them.” Dom’s safe immediately comes to mind, and she begins to toy with the end of her shirt. “Uh, so, one more truth bomb to drop, I guess: Dom’s back in the country.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She can feel her face getting warm and she hates herself for it. “We’ve sort of been hanging out.” Her collar suddenly feels like it’s closing in on her neck, and she nervously tugs at it. “She only got back recently, but, uh, I’ve...kind of been sneaking into her place at night to sleep there. I’ve been doing it for awhile now, like…before she came back.”

Elliot’s expression is unreadable again. She’s assuming he’s putting the pieces together - like why he managed to bump into her that one morning on the way back from his run. “I know you go out at night sometimes, but I didn’t think it would be for anything like that.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of fucked up.” She sighs. “I’ve been getting these weird nightmares - mostly about the Dark Army and shit. Sleeping at her place, even when she wasn’t there, kept them away. I have no idea why.”

“That’s what therapy’s for, Darlene.” He shakes his head. “You gotta tell Ben. This sounds serious.”

“I know, I know. Jesus.” She groans. “I’m going to tell him, I promise. I just figured you should know since we’re apparently on a truth dump right now.”

“I hate that this is happening to you.” He frowns. “Things should be easier now that we have less shit to worry about.”

“You know just as well as I do that it never works like that.” She snorts. “And when have things been easy for us anyway? It’s fine, I’ll get through it somehow. I always do.”

“I know.” Elliot scratches Flipper’s chin. “How’s Dom doing, anyway? She okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s actually a lot like you: Turning over a new leaf, feng shui-ing her apartment, all that good stuff.” She clears her throat. “I’m probably going to see her again tomorrow.”

He cracks a smile; there’s something vaguely impish about it but she wisely decides against pointing it out. “I thought you guys hated each other.”

“Oh, we definitely do.” Darlene mutters. “But...we also don’t. It’s kind of complicated.”

“I’m sure you’ll work things out.” He shrugs, though he’s still smiling. “Didn’t think she was your type, to be honest.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, for starters, she works for the FBI.” Elliot’s grin is getting wider, much to Darlene’s chagrin. “Never thought you’d have the hots for someone who makes a living off enforcing rules for the government.”

She shoves him. “Fuck off.”

He chuckles. “But seriously, Darlene - I’m happy for you. Whatever it is you guys have, I think it’s what you need right now.”

She can feel her cheeks getting warm again, and she looks away. “I…really don’t want to fuck this up. I mean, I kind of already have. Actually, I did - I _did_ fuck it up. I fucked it up more than once, which is why I _really_ don’t want to fuck this up again.” She’s speaking faster and faster, though it’s unclear if she’s aware of it. “Is that weird? Why does it feel weird?”

“It’s not weird.” Elliot threads his fingers through Flipper’s stringy black fur. “It’s good that you want to make things right. I get it, though - it’s new territory and you’re not really sure where to go from here, but I think that fear is trying to tell you that you care, and that you know how important she is to you.” He shrugs, acting as if they’re talking about something as casual as the weather. “The fear reminds you of what you need to do so you don’t fuck up again.”

Darlene gives him a slow nod as she digests his words. He’s right; she should be using this as motivation instead of shying away from it. A part of her most likely knew this all along, but hearing it really helps.

She bumps shoulders with him again, though it’s more playful this time. “Look at you being all big brotherly with your words of wisdom.”

He sheepishly drops his head, laughing coyly. “If she breaks your heart, I’ll kick her ass.”

Darlene makes a face, laughing out of disbelief. “No you fucking won’t. She’s a trained, seasoned FBI field agent; she’ll snap you like a toothpick.”

“I’m FBI too, remember?”

“Yeah, but you’re not the cool kind. You just sit at your desk all day and do nerd shit.”

 _“You_ do nerd shit. You just told me you hack into my computer on a regular basis.” His expression has _incredulous_ written all over it. “I basically do what she does, except digitally. She’s mostly analog.”

Darlene scoffs. “You just made yourself sound even less cool, which I didn’t even think was possible.”

“Wait, so there’s a _cool_ kind of FBI now?” That annoying grin from before is back, and she has half a mind to punch it clean off his face. “You either _really_ like her, or this is some kind of weird alternate universe we’re living in.”

“You’re the fucking worst, you know that?” She kicks him, aiming carefully so that Flipper isn’t disturbed. Elliot chuckles again, shaking his head in amusement, and she joins in. It’s been ages since they shared a moment like this, where they’re able to rip on each other like any other pair of siblings. It’s a nice reminder of what’s to come: A future where they can do this all the time, whenever they want, without the looming threat of secret societies, the end of modern society, or shitty parents.

He briefly glances at her before shifting around in his seat; there’s another pause, but it doesn’t last long. “You know, Angela and I used to say that we were gonna get high and watch Back to the Future together, but we never got around to doing it. I wish we did.”

It’s a sad change in subject, but Darlene quickly thinks of a way to retain the light mood. “So let’s fucking do it.” She stands up and makes her way to the door. She’s suddenly filled with energy, a newfound determination, and she isn’t going to waste it. “She wouldn’t want us sitting around and moping anyway. C’mon.”

Elliot laughs as he rises up to join her, gathering Flipper in his arms, and she flashes him a grin before they leave her apartment and walk into his. The water in her lungs is gone, and she suddenly feels tonnes lighter. There’s a warm hope inflating inside of her, and for the first time in a long time she feels like that maybe, just maybe, things might actually be okay.

“Darlene?” He asks as she turns on the TV.

“Yeah?”

He reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I’m not going anywhere either.”


	6. What it feels like to feel alive

By the time Sunday evening rolls around, Dom officially runs out of things to do. Her apartment is clean, her closet is organized, and her fridge is full. She still has a little less than three months left of her administrative leave, and the FBI is still slugging through their investigation on her involvement with the Dark Army, so she has to find something to keep her occupied. Maybe she’ll finally start looking into exercise routines tomorrow, or maybe she’ll fulfill a childhood dream and ride an entire subway line from start to finish - because she actually has the time to do something like that now.

It’s pretty late, but she figures she should probably make something for dinner since she hasn’t eaten yet, so she lifts herself off her bed and makes her way towards the kitchen, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. She can’t conceal the grin that splits her mouth open; she already knows who it is, but out of habit she peers through the peephole anyway, and when she spots that familiar mess of brown hair and those idiotic heart-shaped sunglasses her grin somehow gets even wider.

Dom takes a second to compose herself, forcing the dopey smile off her face, and finally opens the door. “Hi.” Their shoulders brush as Darlene briskly walks past her, and when she turns to face her she notices she’s holding a plastic bag. “What’s that?”

“A gift.” Darlene smirks as she holds it out to her. “Pour vous.”

“Why?” Dom quirks an eyebrow as she reluctantly takes the bag. “Please tell me it’s something legal. You didn’t steal this, or-”

“It was legally obtained.” Darlene holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honour - and I have the receipt to prove it.”

Dom rolls her eyes before peering into the bag, but when she discovers what’s inside they nearly bulge out of their sockets. “I can’t believe it.” She gapes as she pulls out a brand new Echo; it’s a lot smaller and lighter than her last one, which kind of makes it look less conspicuous, but she’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

“I smashed the other one, so I figured it was my responsibility to replace it.” Darlene takes off her glasses, dumps her bag on the floor, tosses her jacket on one of the chairs by the small table, and sits on the edge of her bed, smoothing out her cargo pants with her hands. “Trust me, it wasn’t an easy decision to make. I’ve been beating myself up over it the entire way here.”

“You said that I needed to stop relying on this thing.” Dom pulls the speaker out of its box and places it on her desk. The fact that Darlene actually contributed to capitalism  just for her is what’s causing the butterflies in her stomach right now. 

“You do.” Darlene shrugs. “But you obviously already know that. You’ve done loads for yourself these past few months; I think you’re at a stage in your mental health where you can tell the difference between a preprogrammed talking speaker and an actual human being who wants to be a part of your life.”

The dopey grin from earlier makes a comeback. “Are  you the actual human being who wants to be a part of my life?”

Darlene immediately turns away from her so that she can’t see her face, and it only makes her smile wider. “Obviously. Jesus, Dom - do I have to spell it out for you?”

That’s the closest she’ll ever get to a compliment from Darlene Alderson, so she takes it. “Thanks, I guess.” It doesn’t take long to set it up; Alexa’s back minutes later, blinking at them with her signature blue hue. “Alexa, play The Cranberries.”

“Shuffling songs by The Cranberries.” Seconds later, Dolores O’Riordan is crooning the lyrics to  _ Linger. _ Darlene rolls her eyes, and Dom returns it with a triumphant grin before heading into the kitchen.

“Congratulations - you just gave the FBI another channel to tune into.” Darlene’s contemptuously staring at the small speaker, almost like she’s expecting it to grow limbs and attack her.

“Uh, in case you’ve forgotten,” Dom’s head is in the fridge, trying to figure out what to cook. _“I’m_ the FBI. Also, you bought it for me, so if they’re spying on us right now it’s your fault.” She rifles through a salad kit, a brand new six pack of Tecate, and a package of raw chicken breasts. “Want anything for dinner?”

“Got any more of that grilled cheese?” When she pulls herself out of the fridge, Darlene’s leaning against the entrance to the kitchen with her arms crossed. The crooked smile hovering over her lips causes a stirring in Dom’s chest; she nervously clears her throat and sticks her head back into the fridge, partially to grab ingredients and partially to cool herself off.

“Coming right up.”

She makes the mistake of putting Darlene in charge of flipping the sandwiches. Sometime later, they’re sitting at her small dining table laughing over blackened toast. At least the cheese isn’t burned.

“So,” Dom reaches for her bottle of Tecate and washes down the remnants of her charred meal. “Did you sort everything out with your brother?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Darlene picks at her crust. “It went a lot better than I thought it was going to. I mean, I still had a panic attack, but I powered through.”

“That’s good - not the panic attack. I mean everything else.”

“Yeah.” Darlene shrugs. “I told him everything. I was expecting him to get really pissed off because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you find out your sister’s been sniffing around your personal business. Also, that’s just how he used to react, even though I had good reasons sometimes.”

“Like being a Confidential Human Source for the FBI?” Dom offers, and the both of them shyly chuckle into their drinks. “So where do you go from here?”

“Back to therapy, I guess.” Darlene doesn’t look or sound very enthusiastic about it. “I have to suck it up and actually care about it, or at least try to. It’s probably the only way I’ll be able to get rid of these stupid nightmares. Then...I dunno. We’ll see where we go from there.”

“There’ll always be a place for you at Cyber Command.” She reminds her.

Just as she expected, Darlene rolls her eyes. “Hard pass.”

Well, it was worth a second try. “If you’re so opposed to working for the feds, you can always find work someplace else. There’s a bunch of cyber security firms out there that could really use your expertise.”

“Ah, yes.” Darlene knits her eyebrows together, pretending to think really hard. “The age old debate: Do I want to be a pig or an office drone?”

It’s Dom’s turn to roll her eyes. “How much longer are you gonna keep this up? You’re going to have to grow up eventually - actually, you’re already starting to, with the commitment to taking therapy seriously and getting to the bottom of those nightmares you’ve been having. So you might as well go all out and get a job.”

Darlene heaves a sigh but doesn’t say anything else. The tip of her index finger is running along the rim of her Tecate. After a few more seconds of silence, she finally decides to speak up. “You never told me about Budapest.”

This is her way of letting Dom know that she doesn’t want to talk about the job thing anymore, and she’s fine with that. It didn’t look like that conversation was going anywhere anyway. “It was nice, but I was only there for about a week and a half. I went to Vienna afterward, and then Prague.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Next was Berlin, then I went up to Copenhagen for a little bit before heading to Amsterdam and Brussels. I stayed in Paris for about three days before taking the train to London...and then I figured it was time I went home.”

Darlene lets out a low whistle. “Wow. You really carpe diem-ed the shit out of the last three months, didn’t you?”

Dom chuckles and shakes her head. “Three months is a really long time. I couldn’t just stay in one city.” There’s a pause as Dom mentally gathers up the courage to say, “But you already knew all of that, didn’t you?” 

Darlene immediately lifts her head to stare at her. Her brow is furrowed and her mouth is slightly parted. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t act surprised.” Dom shrugs. “You should’ve expected this.”

“How?” Darlene’s fingers visibly tighten around her drink.

“I know you a lot better than you think, Darlene. I knew you weren’t going to initiate contact, but I also knew that you couldn’t just  _ not _ know because you’re weird like that, so I assumed you’d find a way to check up on me. This was all just pure speculation, by the way - I didn’t actually feel one hundred percent confident about it until you showed up at the bar on Friday. That’s when I knew for sure, because how else could you have known I was there?” Darlene begins to shift around in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that Dom can see right through her. “You told me before that I hold onto a lot and I hold on tight, but what about you? You act like you don’t care, but you do. You care a whole damn lot. You just don’t like showing it.” When Darlene shakes her head and looks away, Dom throws her a smirk. “You’re the most non-caring caring person I’ve ever met.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“You know I’m right. That’s why you snooped on your brother, and that’s why you snooped on me.” There’s a smug pride building up inside of her, and the more dismissive Darlene is the more smug she feels. “How did you do it, anyway? I was an entire ocean and a handful of countries away from you.”

Darlene takes a drink, her eyes forcing themselves to look at anything but Dom. “It’s not that hard. I just had to rig a few-”

Dom raises a hand the second _ rig _ comes out of Darlene’s mouth. “Y’know what, forget I asked. This is why you belong at Cyber Command.” She sighs. “I can’t believe I almost ripped my stitches running across an entire goddamn airport for you.”

“Whatever.” Darlene finally finishes the last of her sandwich. “Aren’t you gonna lecture me on how I just invaded your privacy?”

“Why should I?” Dom shrugs. “You already learned your lesson with Elliot, so I know you won’t do it again - at least I hope you won’t.”

Darlene raises an eyebrow. “So you waited for Elliot to call me out first before doing it yourself? Is that what you meant by  _ when you’ve got it all figured out, I’ll be here?” _

“You called yourself out when you confessed to Elliot first. I just called you out afterward.” Dom takes a swig of her beer. “Would you have brought it up if I didn’t?”

“I was going to!” Darlene exclaims. She’s clearly flustered now, and Dom has to bite her lip to hold in her laughter. “I was just working my way up to it. I had to have a goddamn panic attack first before I was able to tell Elliot, so cut me some fucking slack.”

A thought suddenly pops into Dom’s head. “Wait. If you knew where I was the whole time, why did you break in that night? You would’ve known I was back.”

There’s a long pause. Darlene begins to fiddle with her bottle again. “I stopped about a month ago. I only checked in on Friday after I learned you were back.”

“Why did you stop?” Somewhere in the background,  _ No Need to Argue _ comes to an end, and Alexa starts to play  _ Dreams. _

Darlene shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe I realized you were doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing, which was getting the rest you needed and taking some time for yourself, and I didn’t feel like I had to check in anymore.” She finishes the rest of her drink. “I followed you all the way to Copenhagen, and that was it.” She pauses again, sucking in a deep breath, like she’s preparing herself for something. “I...never really apologized to you. For everything that happened.”

“It’s fine, Darlene.” Dom replies dismissively. “Honestly, I’m used to all of the dumb shit you pull on a daily basis.”

“But that’s the problem: You  shouldn’t be used to it. Instead, I should be wising the fuck up and  not  do dumb shit all the time.” Darlene takes another second to pull herself together. “I’m not just talking about these past couple of days; I’m talking about  _ everything:  _ Stealing your badge, the whole thing with Irving, the Dark Army, Janice, all of it. I’m sorry, okay? I’m just...really fucking sorry for everything that I’ve ever done to you. I know this half-assed apology doesn’t really make up for anything, but I just want you to know that.” She turns away, breaking eye contact.

The stirring in her chest from before comes back full force, but she doesn’t fight it this time. Dom leaves her seat, makes the short trek to where Darlene is sitting, and cups a hand against her cheek. “That’s why I didn’t reach out. You needed to learn how to deal with things on your own - and you did, even though you feel like you haven’t made much progress.” She bends down and plants a kiss on her forehead. “I’m proud of you, Darlene, and I hope you keep it up. I don’t want to be anywhere in this new world without you.” Her smile is soft, borderline sheepish. “Three months was long enough.”

Darlene looks like she was just slapped in the face. It’s obvious she isn’t used to this kind of praise or affection, and it breaks Dom’s heart because she deserves so much of both. She thinks about why she might not be used to it, and none of the possibilities are happy ones - but whatever the actual reason is, Dom would like to know someday. Whenever Darlene is ready to share that with her.

Darlene’s hands slowly rise up to frame Dom’s face, and she pulls her down for a kiss. This time, they move slowly, almost languidly. All of the other kisses they’ve shared before were quick, sudden, and aggressive; it was always in the heat of the moment, with a sense of urgency, almost like they’ll never be able to do this again.

But now, there isn’t any pressure to act fast. Time isn’t running out - in fact, it’s dragging. It’s moving so slowly, but neither of them are complaining about it. They have all the time in the world to learn more about themselves and each other. There’s no need to rush.

Dom moves her hands to Darlene’s shoulders, tugging her to her feet, and she smiles against her mouth when she complies. Darlene allows Dom to gently push her against the closest wall, her hands dragging up from the sides of her face to her hair. Dom pulls Darlene closer, wrapping her arms around her waist and pressing their hips together.

Dom reluctantly pulls away a couple of minutes later, her chest heaving and face flushed. “Hold on.” She heads over to her closet and drops to her knees, rummaging through something.

She can hear Darlene groaning somewhere behind her. “Come  _on,_ Dom. I swear to God, if you’re checking up on your gun right now I’m gonna-”

“Can you stop complaining for five seconds?” Dom emerges with a small manila envelope. She sits on the edge of her bed and pats the spot next to her. “I just remembered that I have something for you.”

“And you have to do this  _ now?” _

“Yes,  _ now,  _ so sit your ass down before I make you.”

Darlene is still leaning against the wall; her smile is tantalizingly devious. “What if I want you to make me?”

Dom would’ve normally unraveled at that, but not tonight. She rolls her eyes instead. “Just come here, please.” When Darlene gives up and begrudgingly takes a seat next to her, she hands over the envelope. “Open it.”

Darlene shoots her a glare, but she flips the top of the envelope open and reaches inside. “What-” Her eyes widen when she pulls out a small stack of postcards, one for every country Dom visited.

“I didn’t know where to send them, so I started collecting them with the intent to just give it all to you in bulk when I got back.” Dom reaches for the Brussels card and flips it over. “I wrote something in each of them.”

She patiently sits in silence as Darlene reads through all of the cards. The messages aren’t anything special or enlightening; they’re mostly just quick blurbs about what she’s been up to, the things she’s seen, and how she wished Darlene was with her.

“I...” Darlene is speechless as she gently pushes the postcards back into the envelope, handling them with extreme care, as if she’s afraid she’ll bend or warp them with the slightest touch. “These are...really nice.” She sets the envelope aside and begins to fiddle with her hands. Dom’s never seen Darlene this nervous before. “Sorry. I don’t really know what to do. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

“It’s okay.” Dom places a hand on Darlene’s cheek, her thumb gingerly brushing the skin beneath her eye. “You don’t have to do or say anything.”

“But I should.” Darlene mumbles, reaching up to grasp her hand. “I want to.”

“You’ll come up with something eventually. There’s no need to force it.” Dom smiles. “We’ve got time.”

She didn’t know it would feel so liberating to say that until now, and she knows Darlene feels the same because she’s nodding against her palm and finally smiling. “Yeah. I guess we do.”

Dom moves in for another kiss, which Darlene happily accepts. They pull apart a few seconds later, exchanging small smiles beneath heavy-lidded eyes, and they kiss again, but it’s cut short when Darlene unexpectedly leans away to yawn. Was she able to sleep last night? Did she have another nightmare? She looks exhausted.

“You really need some rest.” Dom heads over to her closet and tosses her old Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt over to Darlene. 

“Ugh.” She hears her grumble as she reaches for something to change into. “Fine, have it your way.”

Not long afterward, Darlene is partially hidden somewhere beneath the blankets and pillows, seemingly fast asleep. After shutting Alexa off and tucking the postcards into Darlene’s backpack, Dom checks her safe one last time to make sure everything’s in order. Just as she’s about to lock it up for the night, she spots the passport sitting near the back; it’s the fraudulent one, the one she used in Europe.

She grabs it and flips it open to the photo page, tracing a finger over the false name. For three months she had the opportunity to live someone else’s life, to pretend she wasn’t an overworked, socially inept FBI agent who deluded herself with the illusion that she just had too much work to do to focus on her personal life. Through this fake passport she was able to reinvent herself and finally start working towards becoming the person she was always meant to be: Confident, approachable, with the self-awareness to accept that it’s okay to step back every once in awhile and take care of herself.

But she’s home now, and she isn’t the person in that photo anymore. Now she’s just Dom, who is still kind of nervous and socially inept, but she’s not as bad as before. She’s better, smarter. She’s not all the way there yet and there’s plenty of work to do until she gets there, but for once in her life she’s looking forward to it. She’s actually excited for the challenges that lie ahead, and she owes it all to the imaginary person staring up at her from this falsified passport - and the jerk who went through the trouble of getting it for her, who also happens to be sprawled out on her bed right now.

“Later, Jackie.” She smiles, as if she’s recalling a fond memory of an old friend who’s no longer here. “It was nice knowing you.”

The longer she stares at it, the less sentimental her thoughts become, and her logic and unwavering sense of morality kicks in. She briefly thinks about how she should dispose of this thing without leaving a trail that can easily lead authorities back to her. It’s an illegal document, and if she gets caught with it right before her admin leave is finished she could be in even hotter water than she already is. Maybe she should ask Darlene; this probably isn’t the first time she’s had to get rid of something like this.

As if on cue, Darlene calls out to her from the bed; her voice is gravelly and slightly slurred with fatigue.

“Can you just stop doing whatever the fuck it is you’re doing over there and come spoon me already?”

Dom’s neck and face suddenly feel ten degrees hotter. She rolls her eyes, though she also can’t help the smile that forces its way onto her lips, and tosses the passport back in the safe before finally locking it. She’ll figure it out tomorrow.

She finally crawls into bed, locates Darlene underneath the sheets, and curls an arm around her waist, cuddling as close as she possibly can as she buries her nose into Darlene’s hair. She can feel Darlene’s chest expand and decompress as she sighs with relief, and when Darlene leans back a bit to press their bodies even closer, Dom closes her eyes and drops her chin on her shoulder.

Sleep easily overtakes the both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter titles are taken from "Breathing" by Lifehouse.


End file.
